


Open Your Mouth and Say Ah

by RandomFlyer



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Camp medic, Gen, His name's Sgt Joseph Wilson, Hogan is a stubborn patient, How he got to camp, Semi-original character - Freeform, Sgt Joe Wilson is just as stubborn, you see him for 30 seconds in one episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-02-09 20:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomFlyer/pseuds/RandomFlyer
Summary: Stalag 13 gets a new member, who can be as much trouble as he is a help.Work originally posted on FFic.net ***2009 Papa Bear Award Best Portrayal of a Cannon Character Gold Medal Winner***





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story back in 2009 and it was my introduction to writing fanfic. It's been posted on FFic.net but I'm slowly moving all my stories on to AO3 as well. I don't plan on doing any major changes to it beyond minor grammar or formatting tweaks. At the very least it's neat to see how much my writing has changed over the years. Hope anyone who's new to this story enjoys it.

**Chapter 1**

Sergeant Joseph Wilson stared at the door, specifically at the name plate attached to the door: General Alfred Butler. He didn't know why he was ordered to report to the general, but he didn't have a good feeling about the summons.

_Well, Joe, this is what you get for yelling at a bomb group commander_ , he thought to himself. He thought back with a twinge of regret to the incident that must have led to his meeting with Gen. Butler. After refusing to give medical clearance for several squadron leaders he'd found himself at the wrong end of a colonel's temper. The resulting argument did not aid the medic's army career in any way. He mentally kicked himself again, not for refusing to clear the pilots but at allowing his temper to get the better of him and snap back at the commander.

However, that incident was several weeks ago and should have already been dealt with and settled. Wilson frowned once again as he stared at the door, wondering if he'd offended the colonel more than he'd realized. Only one way to find out. He stepped up to the door and knocked.

"Come in," a voice from inside the office called.

Wilson opened the door and stepped inside and delivered a quick salute, allowing the door to swing close behind him. Hearing the door click closed behind him gave him the added feeling of being trapped and he could feel his pulse pick up a few beats as he stood at rigid attention.

_Calm down!_ he told himself, _you did the right thing in grounding those men and you were assured there would be no court-martial, so relax._ His heart rate slowed for a moment but his pulse picked up as the seconds drew into minutes, and he grew unaccountably nervous with the long silence.

Wilson stole a quick glance down from the spot on the wall he'd chosen, to the general still sitting at the desk. General Butler was not looking at him but reading a personnel file, his personnel file Wilson realized with a sinking feeling. _This may be about more than a disagreement between myself and my superior…_

The file seemed thicker than Wilson remember from the last time he'd seen it, but he told himself it was only his imagination. True he'd transferred to and from several units starting with the campaigns as a field medic in Africa and finally moving to England as a ground medic for bomber and fighter crews. Wilson tried to think of anything from his previous assignments that may have resulted in his meeting with the general but nothing came to mind. _Perhaps they're transferring me again_ , he thought to himself for a moment, but rejected the idea almost immediately.

Wilson had to strongly resist the urge to cough, reminding the general that he was still there, still at attention. Butler seemed quite content to sit and read the file, occasionally turning the page or flipping ahead or back and skimming over various sections of the reports. Finally, Butler lowered the file to his desk and looked up at Wilson still standing at attention.

"At ease, sergeant," the general said.

Wilson relaxed into an easier stance, hesitating before correcting the general. "Private, sir."

"Private?" The general looked at him over the opened file, "Oh yes, that disagreement over the groundings. Sergeant to private, rather a long drop, don't you think?"

Wilson was unsure what to say. He searched for the most diplomatic answer, "It was the punishment deemed necessary according to the circumstances."

Butler looked at him closely as he leaned over his desk. Then, leaning back into his chair and steeping his hands, his gaze never leaving Wilson, he asked, "Was it worth it?"

"Sir?" Wilson asked, somewhat confused on what the general was heading for.

"Would you do it again?" Butler rephrased.

"If you mean my decision? Then yes," Wilson said, certain he was signing his own execution but unwilling to change his position. "Those men were over worked and needing a rest. Pushing men that way will only damage their ability to perform their jobs and will cause more long term damage than short term success... However, I will say that my phrasing of some of my protests may have been… out of line." If you consider "thoughtless slave driver" as out of line, Wilson thought to himself, replaying some of the accusations he'd thrown at his commander and which he still agreed with, in part.

Butler regarded him with a thoughtful eye. "You seem to have a reputation for it," the general agreed, placing a hand on the personnel file. "It says here that you've come into conflict with superior officers several times concerning medical matters."

Wilson decided silence was the best response to this statement as Butler looked up again to see the doctor's reaction.

"It says here," the general continued, "That you yelled at General Maddox for disregarding your medical advice for both his men and himself. Then here it says you stole medical supplies from across enemy lines during your short assignment in Africa. Medics do not conduct raids, Private," the general added in a more sever tone before continuing, "After which you were transferred here and moved from unit to unit thanks to conflicts with your commanding officers. Quite frankly, Private, I'm surprised you haven't been court-martialed yet."

"Well sir…" Wilson falter, unsure how to respond.

After a few seconds of silence the general prodded him to continue. "Yes, Private?"

"Sir, that incident in Africa was under very specific circumstances. It could hardly be considered a 'raid'. We needed some supplies. There was a group of Germans who had been cut off from their group. I saw the opportunity and took it. No one was hurt and we got the medical supplies we needed."

"There are supply lines established for that exact purpose," the general came back harshly.

"With all due respect, sir, the supply line would have taken too long," Wilson said, positive that antagonizing another officer was the last thing he needed to do at the moment but needing to defend his actions.

The general seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding his head. "Very well, go on."

"As for the rest, sir….I have nothing to say except it was for the good of the men."

The general nodded again. "You were getting ready for your medical exams when you were drafted, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir," Wilson said, unsure what this had to do with his past insubordination. "My father was a doctor and his father before him."

"A healer first then a soldier?"

"You might say that, general, but I am a soldier, too," Wilson admitted, growing more confused by the moment.

The general nodded again and fell silent, looking at the personnel file. He seemed to be thinking of something, but Wilson couldn't read his expression past that. Wilson realized he was growing more rigid as he waited for the general to say something and fought the urge to open his mouth and break the silence.

Finally, the general looked at him and said, "How would you like to be a sergeant again?"

This was the last thing Wilson expected and for a moment he couldn't find anything to say in response. He stood with his mouth opening and closing slightly as he struggled to find the right words. "Well… yes, sir, depending on the circumstances…"

"A man of principle," the general muttered almost to himself, "Good, you'll need it." Then louder, "I have an assignment for you, if you'd like it."

"An assignment, sir?"

"Yes, but don't think I'm letting you off for all these insubordinations, it's a tough assignment and will probably last until the end of the war. Transfer is not an option, but you would regain your rank and be an integral part of the Allied war effort."

Wilson stared at the general, "I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."

Butler paused for a moment, pursing his lips as he clearly thought something over. Then he stood and walked around the desk speaking slowly and with care. "We have an agent working in Germany with the local underground helping to slow down the Nazi war machine. This agent is vital to Allied High command as well as all the resistance units within the area. We need someone there to look after any medical situations that may arise, a competent medic who can provide more than basic first aid if our agent, his men, or his contacts ever need it. You have precisely the type of medical background we need for that purpose."

Wilson frowned, unsure if the General was being completely serious, though he couldn't see anything in the man's demeanor that would prove otherwise. "But I have no training in covert work. Wouldn't a more qualified soldier, one with espionage and sabotage training as well as medical knowledge be more appropriate for this assignment? Or even a local doctor?"

The general shifted in his position leaning against the desk. "Perhaps," he agreed, continuing after a moment, "but finding someone who fit that description would take time we don't want to waste and there is another factor in play here. This particular agent can be very stubborn when he wants to be and will need someone who can be equally stiff necked, who isn't afraid to stand up to an authority figure and perhaps getting knocked down a few ranks in return. Your record speaks for itself in the amount of times you've locked horns with superior officers on this issue. As to the local doctor, the situation is a unique one and we want someone on hand in a moment's notice, not a radio call and a fifteen or half hour wait away. However," the general said, looking pointedly at Wilson, "he will still be your commanding officer and you will be expected to follow his orders. More than that I can't say until you accept; even then you won't learn much more in case something goes wrong while trying to make contact."

Wilson frowned, looking down at the general's desk. It sounded like a tough assignment, taking care of a person and yet having to obey their orders. Then the lack of information about where he would be, what the conditions would be didn't encourage him at all. The general mentioned it was behind enemy lines, that in itself was extremely dangerous. As far as he could tell the general hadn't done a very good job in selling the assignment if he was supposed to volunteer for it.

Wilson continued to frown in silence as he considered all of this, and yet… If he did accept it sounded as though he could really make a difference, not just handing out aspirin and grounding fliers, but helping those who did not have ready access to medical help, by the sounds of it. Not to mention the restoration of his rank.

"Would I have the last word in any medical situations?" Wilson asked the general, "Or would this agent have the authority in that area as well? Because if that's the case then I can hardly see the point in sending me at all."

The general chuckled, moving back to his seated position behind the desk, "You would of course have the last word when considering the men's health as far as London was concerned, but I think you'll find this agent somewhat reluctant to agree to every decision you make. Undoubtedly you'll find yourself in some very awkward and uncomfortable positions because of it. Am I to take it that you are accepting?" Butler, leaned forward resting his arms on his desk as he watched Wilson with an expectant expression.

Wilson opened his mouth, then closed it again. He still had his reservations but his gut told him to accept the assignment, despite all the unknowns. He glanced around the room briefly, noting the photos of planes and groups of airmen standing and smiling for that brief moment for the camera, who knew where they were now. The general certainly knew about dangerous assignments, considering his background before being promoted to a desk away from the fighting.

Looking back to Butler, Wilson nodded his head once, "Yes, I suppose I am."

"Good," the general said. He didn't smile or congratulate Wilson. It would be a tough assignment and something the private would probably regret accepting more than once before the war was over. "You're not to talk about this assignment to anyone. It is strictly top secret. You won't be informed where you will be going or staying until you get there. I'm sorry we have to keep you in the dark, but this is a very important operation and, as I said before, if something goes wrong we don't want the slightest chance in anything getting to the Nazis."

"I understand, sir," Wilson said with a nod, for the most part.

"Very good, you leave in two days. You'll be briefed again immediately before departure. Dismissed."

Wilson saluted and turned to leave the office, but stopped when the general called to him again.

"Oh, and sergeant, good luck."

"Thank you, sir," Wilson said, opening the door. _I think I'm going to need it,_ he said to himself wondering what he'd gotten himself into as he left the office closing the door behind him.

TBC…

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention I don't own Hogan's Heroes in the last chapter.

**Chapter 2**

Colonel Robert Hogan, Senior Prisoner of War Officer of Luft-Stalag 13, leaned against the corner of Barracks 2 surveying the scene before him and smiled with complete satisfaction. The compound of Stalag 13 hummed with activity as prisoners busied themselves with seemingly innocent tasks around the barracks. The Allied prisoners, now that the war was over for them, set their minds and efforts to the wholesome tasks of gardening, basket weaving, and other harmless arts and crafts as well as the necessary maintenance of the barracks and grounds. However, these activities were only innocent to the idle spectator, to those not admitted to the exclusive Stalag 13 "country club" as Colonel Hogan sometimes put it. To Hogan, the scene displayed a strong effort against the Nazi war effort, another front opening in the heart of the Thousand Year Reich without their captors even realizing it. Gardeners hid dirt from tunnels, maintenance crews built in hidden doors and access panels to barracks and other buildings in camp as well as installing microphones at vital points. He wasn't sure what he would have the basket weavers do, other than acting as a smoke screen for the other clandestine operations, but he was sure that he'd come up with some more eventually. In short, Stalag 13 was receiving an over-haul for escape, an underground railroad for those fleeing the Nazi regime.

Satisfied plans were proceeding smoothly, Hogan turned to head back into Barracks 2, planning on reviewing the ongoing list of items needing attention. The operation was still in its infancy. As of yet, they had only helped downed allied fliers, but Hogan saw a possibility to help anyone seeking a way out, as well as doing active damage to Hitler's Third Reich. Though they had helped quite a few fliers and even tried their hand at some minor espionage, there was still much room for improvement. Robert Hogan was determined to get those improvements finished before something big came along. He, for one, wanted to get home alive and he wanted his men home alive as well. For that to happen they needed to be better than good, they needed to be the best.

The officer glanced around the cramp interior of Barracks 2 as he passed to his own room. No one was there but he had no doubt wherever his men where they weren't wasting their time. There was too much work to do to be sitting around the barracks idle and bored. He headed into his office and quarters, careful to keep his eyes off his bunk and his mind away from any thoughts of a short nap, despite a low headache thrumming its way through the back of his skull. A group of escapees from Stalag 6 had passed through last night killing his first chance at a decent night's sleep in a week. Hogan smothered a yawn that suddenly made its appearance, clapping a hand over his mouth. He wasn't the only one up all night trying to get the unexpected arrivals out as quickly as possible, so there wasn't any reason for him to go lying down on the job while his men were still out working, however good the lumpy and thin mattress looked on his bed. Hogan shook his head in annoyance at himself and pulled out a map of their burgeoning tunnel system, careful to keep it out of site from the window.

Over the past couple of months they had managed to carve out an elaborate system of tunnels traversing the entire compound of the camp as well as outside the wire. They had tunnels going to over half the barracks and storage sheds in the compound with plans for even more as the need arose. Now, with the underground bringing in supports and wood to shore up walls they could start digging passages to the rest of the barracks as well as widening out areas for storage.

Hogan was reviewing their progress when a knock came to his door, three slow taps indicating it was one of his men and they were alone.

"Come in," Hogan called as he folded the map and placed it out of sight just in case. He glanced up just as Sgt. James Kinchloe came into the room.

"Message from London, Colonel," Kinchloe said as he handed a scrap of blue note paper to Hogan.

Hogan took the paper with a, "Thanks Kinch," and scanned the message before reading it again out loud. "Sending in new member. Arriving within the week. Recognition code: I'm coming down with blue moon fever. Answer: I can help, open your mouth and say AH."

Hogan stared at the note for a moment. "'Blue moon fever'?" he repeated, half to himself, "Sounds like a bad love song. We need a new code writer."

Kinch shrugged smiling at the sometimes ridiculous codes London was always giving to them, "Guess they don't want anyone to say it by accident."

"Well, they don't have to worry about that with the codes they've been sending us," Hogan replied with a smirk, "They give any other details about this new man they're sending in?"

"No sir," Kinch shook his head, "just that and that the time of pick up would be latter this week."

"And what are we supposed to do with him once he gets here?" Hogan shook his head. How were they supposed to smuggle in a new man and come up with an excuse to keep him in camp?

"They said we'd find a use for him," Kinch said with a shrug.

Hogan stifled the urge to mutter under his breath. _Things were going too smoothly anyway_ , he thought to himself,  _Heaven forbid we should get bored._  He turned back to the rest of the note, noticing the second part of the message continued on the bottom of the page. "'Supply drop scheduled week following arrival new member.' Well, I guess new supplies are always a good thing. We'll have to start in on some of those storage areas in the tunnel system so we have a place to put the stuff. Did they at least mention what supplies they were sending us?"

Kinch shook his head, "No, sir. They didn't give an exact date for the drop either, it'll probably depend on the weather that week." Kinch watched the commander as he tapped the edge of the scrap of blue paper against one finger. "Why don't you take a nap, sir, you look like you could use it."

Hogan flashed a glance and a smile at his second in command. "I could probably use forty naps," he laughed, putting on a joking smile, "But those'll wait until tonight. Get in touch with the underground, let them know we're going to be expecting someone latter this week. We'll probably need their help canvassing the drop zone so we pick this guy up before any patrols do." He reached over and pulled out the tunnel diagram, refolding it and placing it back in its secure hiding place.

"Right, sir." Kinch threw a quick salute before stepping out of the office.

Hogan turned back to the list he had written out of the next dozen most-important-things needed to be done. It didn't even begin to scratch the surface of the work that lay ahead and it seemed to be growing with every second. With a small shake of his head, he added their newest assignment from London to the top of the priorities. Even if the message was vague there still were some things that could be done to prepare for their new arrival, and for now it would have to do.

* * *

Wilson had a horrible sinking feeling that had nothing to do with the fall. It started the moment he stepped out of the plane despite the gentle drift of his parachute as the realization hit home that he couldn't simply turn around and climb back into the plane. He was committed, savoring the last few moments in a space at least partially controlled by the allies. The black earth below belonged to Germany and contained all the hostility and danger that he'd come to associate with the distant horizon the bombers flew over in their runs. Only this time it wasn't some distant place across the horizon. It was the ground directly below him where he'd soon be standing.

The dark mass loomed closer with each passing minute and Wilson desperately jerked his thoughts back from the plane quickly continuing on its way over head and on the immediate problem at hand: where was he going to land? He could make out some details about the terrain he was headed for, a patchwork of trees and fields. Squinting in the darkness, there seemed to be a town off to his right but with the lack of visible lights across the landscape he couldn't be sure. Air blew over his face, sharp and cool, whistling in his ears as he drifted closer to the ground. In the distance, he could hear the sporadic pounding of Ack-Ack guns as the bomb group headed back to England having dropped both their eggs and extra cargo in the generally correct areas.

Wilson spared a last look toward the departing formation, watching the occasional flashes of light in the sky and on the ground. He thought he'd only spared a moment but when he turned back to the ground he found the solid darkness quickly approaching with more speed than he'd realized.

"Shit," Wilson cursed under his breath as he braced himself for the hard impact coming a second latter.

The collision jolted through him as his feet hit the ground, his body absorbing the impact like they trained him. Wilson rolled back to his feet, struggling out of his harness, the momentary panic of seeing the ground so close bringing him back from his reverie. Looking around, he gathered his parachute and thought of the next step with a desperation born from the realization of just how dark and empty and quiet the night was around him. Then came the thought of how quickly that dark, quiet, and empty night could be filled with search lights and soldiers.

First, he had to get to cover, find a place to stash the chute, and stay out of sight of any passing patrols. Wilson looked around, noting the field dotted with haystacks and the forest not too far away. There was no way to tell exactly where he was from the generic setting he'd landed in, though Wilson knew he was somewhere close to the city of Hammelberg. He also knew the Hammelberg underground should have been expecting him and so at that moment they should be closing in on his position to pick him up, that was if things went according to plan. The thought did not give Wilson much reassurance as he recalled the many times thing did not go according to plan during this war, but he pushed it from his mind. "Jump off that bridge when I get to it.." he muttered to himself as he neared the tree line.

The night was dark but enough moonlight filtered through the growing cloud cover that Wilson could still make out the area with surprising detail. He reached the trees and paused just long enough to check behind and see if anyone was watching. As a second thought he jogged back to the nearest haystack, burying the chute deep in the drying hay. Then, he turned without a backward glance and headed back into the forest. He didn't have a specific direction to go, just away from the field at least to make it more difficult for any soldiers to find him.

A few minutes into Wilson's jog through the forest, the medic found a downed and hollowed out tree. It seemed like as good as any place to hide and wait for his pick-up, so Wilson got down and wedged himself as far into the dried and decaying wood as possible, trying to forget the thought of bugs working their way down his collar and under his clothes.

Now that he was here, in the relative safety of cover, whether real or imagined, Wilson realized he had no idea what he was going to do next. He assumed the resistance would find him and when they did they would have further instructions. If the resistance couldn't find him where he lay hidden he had no idea how to proceed. He could go out and try to find them, but that lead to a greater opportunity for capture by a patrol, an option he didn't even want to think about at the moment.

Still, Wilson reflected, he had no useful information on how to contact the underground if they couldn't find him in the woods. All he had was a series of code phrases to recognize the agent he was going to be working with in the area. Though it wouldn't help him any he silently mouth the two phrases to himself again as a sudden irrational fear that he would forget the simple code and thereby blow everything gripped his stomach. "I'm coming down with blue moon fever. I can help, open your mouth and say AH." He wasn't even supposed to be the one who initially started the code. He was just supposed to respond when someone spoke that first code phrase to him.

"Blue moon fever," Wilson muttered low, under his breath. It sounded like a bad love song. "Open your mouth and say AH," he repeated with even more disgust. As a kid, spy novels always managed to sound so exciting with the need for code names and recognitions, but these just seemed undignified.

Wilson shook his head, pushing back a frustrated sigh. He understood the reasons why they hadn't told anything about the underground or the group he was supposed to eventually meet up with, but his own powerlessness still grated on his nerves especially since at no time on the base had capture seemed this likely. There was nothing left to do but sit back and wait. Wilson hated waiting. It was a problem since many times in the medical field that was all a person  _could_ do, sit back and wait to see how a patient progresses, but didn't make it any easier. Even now, a part of him itched to go out and find his pickup and a completely separate part of him said staying put until they found him would be the best course to take.

As the night drew on, Wilson could feel the warmth seeping out of him and into the hollowed out log. It was too mild a night to worry about hypothermia, but the sudden chill did nothing for the increasing discomfort of his position or his restlessness to get moving. He couldn't tell what time it was since he couldn't read his watch in the darkness. It felt like hours had dragged by, but, after reflecting for a moment, Wilson reasoned it might only have been twenty or thirty minutes. Still, from the stiffness settling into his joints and the dampness soaking into his clothes, it  _felt_ like hours.

The woods around him sounded quiet enough, almost too quiet as the stillness seemed to grow thicker than the deepening darkness that grew in the woods. Unable to stand it anymore and ignoring the voice in the back of his head saying it was a very bad idea, Wilson shifted his position to poke his head out from his sheltered position. If possible, the night seemed almost darker than the shadows inside the log thanks to the clouds that had rolled in blocking out the rest of the filtering moonlight.

_Maybe one quick look_ …Wilson said to himself, still torn by the desire to do something more than just sit and wait and the nagging voice of caution telling him he was about to something very stupid. With only a brief hesitation, he clamped down on any doubts and uncurled himself from his position in the log. Wilson could feel the creaking and popping in his stiff joints as he quickly worked out some of the kinks in his knees. He'd take just one look around the area and then get back in his cover.

Wilson crept from inside the tree, looking for any sign of his pickup. Minutes dragged by and still nothing. Maybe he had moved too far from his drop zone. The thought occurred to him as Wilson once again acknowledged the fact that he really didn't know what he was doing in this situation. He turned to head back to the log only to stop short at the rifle barrel pointed at his chest and then the German uniform standing directly behind the gun barrel.

They stood there for a moment, as if neither one knew quite what to do. Then Wilson realized the face behind the gun and the uniform was actually quite young and probably just as scared as he was at the moment. Unfortunately, before he could take any advantage of the fact, the soldier called his friends and Wilson found himself surrounded by the rest of the patrol. This time he didn't have to look twice at the multiple weapons point at him before he slowly lifted his hands above his head with a muttered curse. So much for his debut as a spy.

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long since I wrote this story I don't remember most of it. In that time, I've been in and out of the military myself and having that experience just make's Wilson's "I don't know what I'm doing here" that much funnier because a big phrase in the military is "fake it till you make it".  
> Hope you're enjoying this!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Hogan's head snapped up as he heard muted voices emanating from down the tunnel. He dropped the well-worn check list down on the radio table, causing Kinch to look up from his place working on the radio. The only work he had managed to accomplish with it was abusing the notes in a vain attempt to direct his energies somewhere other than pacing. LeBeau and Newkirk were two hours late in returning from their mission to pick up the new agent, and Hogan was ready to climb out of the tunnel and go looking for them himself. As it was, he settled for meeting them half way along the tunnel.

As the voices drew closer Hogan could clearly pick out the French and Cockney accents belonging to Corporals Louis LeBeau and Peter Newkirk. A moment later and he could begin to make out some of the conversation as it filtered through the length of the tunnel.

"You can tell him," Hogan made out Newkirk's voice as he drew closer to the pair.

"Non," LeBeau's response louder, "You saw it, you can break the bad news."

"What bad news?" Hogan asked as he rounded a corner and came face to face with the two men.

Newkirk and LeBeau pulled up short from both the sudden appearance of their commanding officer and the slight edge in his tone. Hogan didn't need for them to answer, the conspicuous absence of the third member was answer enough to his question. He glanced farther down the dimly lit tunnel, just to be sure, but there were only dirt walls and shadows so he turned back to the two corporals. They remained silent, shifting back and forth, the black-out on their faces masking their expressions.

"Where's the new man?"

After a quick glance between the two Newkirk spoke up. "Sorry Colonel, he was captured by a patrol. They picked him up before we could."

"Oui,  _Colonel_ ," LeBeau said, "We had split up to cover more ground. Newkirk saw it and by the time he found me again they had already taken him in their truck. Sorry, mon Colonel."

Hogan waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, "Nah, it wasn't your fault, wrong place wrong time."

The dirt walls swallowed the words as the corporals relaxed after Hogan's statement. Hogan crossed his arms over his chest and turned back to the radio room at a slower pace, head tilted down in thought. Newkirk and LeBeau fell in pace behind him as he moved down the tunnel. One of the oil lamps lining the walls flickered and died as they passed by and came out into the radio room a moment later.

"This could either work in our favor or against it…" Hogan said out loud, mulling the situation over to himself. "They'll most likely take him to either Gestapo headquarters or bring him here, if they don't just shoot him. If they bring him here then we don't have anything to worry about, he becomes a new prisoner and a part of the operation. BUT if they take him to Gestapo headquarters it becomes much more complicated…" He looked up to Kinch, "Get on the horn with London and let them know the new agent was captured by a patrol."

"Yes, sir," Kinch started to turn back to the radio set but hesitated, "You don't think they'll get anything out of him, do you?"

The colonel shook his head, hitching on a reassuring smile. "He wasn't supposed to know any details, just the code phrase so it shouldn't be too much of a problem. Plus he was dropped in the middle of a raid so the krauts will probably assume he was with a downed bomber."  _If he was in uniform, and they weren't already tipped off on his arrival in the first place…_ Hogan added to himself but didn't mention any of those out loud to his men. "After you've informed London, bring the underground up to speed, too. See if they can get anyone to watch Gestapo headquarters and let us know if he was brought there."

"Wilco*, Colonel," Kinch nodded his head, turned back to the radio, and started to raise London.

Hogan glanced down at his watch, 0347 hours, only a few hours till roll call. "You two get your selves cleaned up and get some sleep. It'll be a long day tomorrow no matter where they take him." Hogan moved to the ladder leading into barracks and climbed out to the "Yes, sir's" of his men as the moved to the changing room.

The barracks was dark and quiet as the rest of the men slept. The soft light coming from the tunnel did little to illuminate the room as Hogan moved quietly to avoid waking anyone, brushing by the common table as he passed it in the darkness. A little groping at his door and he managed to find the knob and let himself into his room. He didn't bother putting on the light but changed into his pajamas in the dark before climbing tiredly onto his top bunk. He wasn't sure how much sleep he'd get with his mind still working over the new development, but he could try.

"We'll just have to see what happens tomorrow," he muttered into the dark and turned onto his side, letting the whole thing drop for the rest of the night.

TBC…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Wilco: radio speak for "I will comply with your demand;" Entymology: wil(l) co(mply)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The truck jolted over another pot hole, jerking Wilson out of the shallow doze he'd managed while sitting up along the hard wood seat in the back. The bench was even more uncomfortable than the chair they'd put him in at their guard post, something he hadn't thought possible until that moment. They had moved him to the truck just before dawn broke the new day and pulled the canvas flaps down to loosely hang over the back. Occasionally, the canvas would flap open, bringing in a wave of dust choked air and a brief flash of sunlight.

Wilson glanced at the two German guards seated opposite to him. Their presence hardly seemed necessary since he was hand cuffed to the bench, and could barely sit up straight much less make an escape attempt. Though, the thought had crossed his mind. The guards hardly paid any attention to him at all. Besides the occasional order barked in either German or broken English and one officer who had asked some basic questions, none of his captures had spoken to him. The two guards seemed more concerned with peeking out of the canvas shell to scan the surrounding area than worrying about their single American prisoner already in their custody.

The medic frowned at the behavior of the two Germans. They shouldn't be that jumpy in their own territory, right? He was sure. Thankfully, this was his first time being a prisoner of war and he didn't know the procedures. Maybe it was just policy to be on high alert while transporting a prisoner.  _Or maybe,_ Wilson thought with a sudden flash of insight,  _it's because the underground is more active in this area, making the countryside more unstable than the rest of the country…_ If that was the case then maybe he still had a chance. The agent knew he was supposed to be coming in last night, surely they would have figured out by now that it had gone wrong and he was captured.

The brief thought of rescue, however improbable, lifted Wilson's spirits. He gave an experimental pull at the manacles but they remained fast. If there was any escaping to be done, it wasn't going to be from his end. One of the guards turned at the sound and growled an order in German. Wilson hadn't suddenly learned any more German than when he was first picked up about five or six hours ago, so the words held little meaning to him, but the tone spoke loudly enough for him to get the message: Stay still.

The ride didn't last too much longer after that, killing any hopes Wilson had of a possible rescue attempt. Soon their truck slowed to a stop with muffled voices coming from outside like one of the many check points they had already passed through. However, when they started moving again it was only at a slow rolling pace before they again stopped all together. The canvas flaps were pulled back with a jerk, drenching the covered area with harsh sunlight. Wilson blinked several times, squinting in the sudden light after traveling in the dimmer area. Someone unlocked the chain holding him to his seat and relocked the cuff around his wrist before pulling him from the truck.

Eyes adjusted to the light, Wilson looked around at their destination. The barbed wire fence was the first thing he noticed. His eyes clamped on it and the air left his lungs like he'd been sucker punched. A sweep across the gray compound, taking in the numerous guard towers, the barracks, and the dirt packed grounds all confirmed it, a prison camp. The bedraggled and worn figures of other POW's stood in groups or pairs and watched him curiously as a guard moved behind him. The depressed atmosphere in the camp was oppressive, opposed only by several patches of bright flower beds skirting some of the buildings. Wilson did a double take at the rare bits of color that seemed so out of place among the barbed wire and guns, maybe the kommandant was a nut…

"Raus!" The guard barked and shoved him toward a building next to the main drive with a front porch and a sign marked "Kommandantur." Wilson stumbled as he started to move slowly toward the building, still trying to take in his new home for the rest of the war, at least until he found a way to get out again. A large man in a German uniform lumbered over to the guard who was herding Wilson to building. The medic eyed the new guard as the two soldiers carried on their conversation. The man was as large around as he was tall, and though his small mustache was very German, the overweight guard looked like he belonged in that camp as much as the struggling flower beds.

One of the soldiers from his ride in jerked Wilson’s hands up and unlocked the cuffs restraining his hands before turning and to climb in the truck with the rest of Wilson's escort. The camp guard stepped up to him. "Raus, raus," he said half heartedly in accented English, motioning with his hands, "The kommandant will see you now."

The receptionist's room was small and filled with second hand furniture. A pretty blond sat behind the desk typing an official looking document. She glanced up at their entrance, a brief and small smile lighting her face before she turned back to her paperwork. "He's waiting inside."

The following office was only slightly larger than the outer room. The furniture, while nicer than that belonging to the secretary, still had a used look about it and the walls were in need of a fresh coat of paint. The obligatory portrait of Hitler hung slightly crooked on the wall glaring across the room. A bald man sat behind the desk bent over paperwork, his pen scratching across the forms piled over the expanse of his desk nearly pushing a cigar humidor and WW1 German helmet over the edge.

"The new prisoner, kommandant," his guard said coming to what could be passed for attention and giving what could be interpreted as a salute. "Sgt. Joseph Wilson."

The kommandant looked up from his paperwork and set down his pen. Steepling his hands, the bald man gave what Wilson assumed was meant to be a triumphant and intimidating smile. While it did appear quite triumphant, as though the kommandant was solely responsible for his capture, Wilson found it very difficult to be intimidated. The monocle and overly inflated chest ruined the effect and Wilson wondered if it was even possible to appear intimidating while wearing a monocle. Perhaps in a Hitchcock or Orson Wells film, but certainly not on an aging paper pusher. Still, sometimes it was the seemingly harmless paper pushers that were the most dangerous.

"Well now, Sergeant, I am Colonel Klink, kommandant of Stalag 13." The colonel said, his voice brimming with delight, "It is my duty to inform you that for you the war is now over. This-"

The door opening and slamming closed cut Klink off short.

"Hogan!" Klink shot out of his chair, "What have I told you about knocking!"

The American colonel stepped up to the desk, sliding in next to Wilson without the slightest hesitation. He was tall, probably about six feet, with dark hair and a grin on his face that was somehow both cocky and innocent. "Well, I heard of the new prisoner and anticipated your summons. After all, as the senior prisoner of war officer it  _is_ required by the Geneva Convention that I be allowed to see any new prisoner and be present for any interrogations."

Klink, the annoyance melting off his face as he dropped down to his chair again, threw Hogan an incredulous look. "Interrogation," he said with a gesture to the paper work spilling off his desk, "Does it look like I have time to interrogate anyone? This war will be ended for no other reason than to stop the paper work it causes!"

Wilson watched the interaction between the two officers with growing confusion. This wasn't right. Wilson would have thought a Senior POW officer and his jailor would be a bit more hostile. Instead, the two seemed familiar with each other in an antagonistic almost friendly way. Hogan certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, if the broad smile on his face was anything to go by.

"Actually, if you're doing paperwork anyway, I do have a few requests…" Hogan started to pull some sheets of paper out from inside his jacket pocket making the German's eyes almost pop in panic.

"No!" Klink nearly shouted in haste with frantic hand gestures, "I don't want ANYTHING that's going to increase this pile already on my desk! One more word about requests from you and you'll be in the cooler for the night!"

Colonel Hogan held up his hands in a defensive gesture, "Just thought I'd save you some time." Then he replaced the folded sheets back in his leather bomber jacket. He turned to Wilson and explained confidentially, "He gets a little cranky being inside too long."

Wilson had to choke back a laugh as the kommandant slammed his hands on the desk and slowly pushed himself out of the chair. "You are dismissed Hogan! Go find someone else to bother!"

Hogan shot back without missing a beat, "The Geneva Con-"

"Very well!" Klink threw up his arms in defeat. Then, turning to Wilson, "Sergeant, this is Colonel Robert Hogan, he is the senior prisoner of war here in camp. If you have any issues you may go through him. Do not bother trying to escape no one has ever escaped from Stalag 13 and it would only create more paper work for me. You are assigned to barracks 5 while you are here in camp. Now get out of my office so I can get some work done.  _Dis_ missed."

The introduction was so hastily delivered Wilson barely caught it. He was still standing in something like shock while Klink turned back to his paperwork, deep aggravation spread across his face as he ignored the two dismissed prisoners before him. Hogan threw a sloppy salute and grabbed Wilson's arm, dragging him out of the office before the sergeant to recover himself. Before he could blink Wilson was back outside in the compound with Colonel Hogan.

"What just happened?" he asked, bewildered.

Hogan, for his part, looked exceedingly pleased with himself. "That was our beloved Colonel Klink," the officer explained, "He's supposed to interview all incoming prisoners, but at the moment he's drowning in the paper war. Mind finishing the introduction we started in there?"

"Sergeant Joseph Wilson," Wilson snapped to attention and throwing up a salute, belatedly remembering he was with an officer. Hogan didn't seem to have the same aura around him as the other officers Wilson had encountered. It had thrown him at first but he made sure to at least give a good salute to the man. The last thing he wanted to do was anger the senior prisoner of war in camp within ten minutes of arriving.

Hogan snapped off a returning salute, looking Wilson over carefully, "At ease, sergeant. You're a medic?"

Wilson nodded easing out of his tense attention. "Yes sir."

"How'd they pick you up?" Hogan continued his examination, arms folded over his chest.

Hogan's intense gaze seemed to pierce right through Wilson as the medic felt other eyes on him from various points within the compound. He realized he didn't know anything about Colonel Hogan or his relationship with the Germans in camp. In any case, it was better to be safe than sorry. "Shot down in last night's raid," Wilson answered, telling himself it was at least partly true.

The colonel watched him a moment more before he turned toward a group of huts. "Barracks 5 is this way. The boys there will get you set up with a bunk and show you around all the amenities."

Wilson followed after him watching the camp life around them. A group of prisoners were starting a new flower bed around one of the buildings. A couple other men were re-hanging a door. In fact, the majority of prisoners he saw were taken up in one task or another, the others stood around watching the camp proceedings with a marked indifference. "Is it true that there has never been an escape, sir?" Wilson asked, coming even with Hogan.

"Not since Klink took command," Hogan acknowledged, an odd gleam in his eye, like he was enjoying a private joke. "Pressing appointment to keep, sergeant?"

Wilson looked at the almost knowing expression on Hogan's face. "I'd just rather not stay a guest of Herr Hitler too long," he said uncomfortable with the look the commanding officer was giving him.

"Places to go, people to see?" Hogan said, his eye brows shooting up into his forehead.

"Something like that," Wilson said looking at the building in front of them.

It looked exactly like the other barracks spread across the compound, single storied, gray walled, a few shuttered windows around the sides and a sign labeled 5 next to the door. There were a couple barrels sitting against the building, holding the day's water supply. Wilson was surprised to notice the building rested directly on the ground, making tunnels a very real possibility for escape. But Hogan had said there had never been an escape from camp. Wilson threw a sideways glance at the colonel. Something about this place was off, Wilson decided, though he couldn't quite tell what.

"Well, sergeant, you look like you've had a rough 24 hours," Hogan was saying, bringing Wilson out of his thoughts. "The boy's will look after you. After you've had something to eat and some sleep we'll talk about your duties in camp. If you have any problems, I'm in barracks 2 over there." Hogan pointed to another building directly across from the commandant's office where a group of prisoners gathered at the corner watching them closely.

Now that Hogan mentioned it, Wilson realized how hungry and tired he was as the sleepless night quickly caught up with him. "Yes sir," he said saluting again.

"Get some sleep," Hogan said, causally returning the salute and turning back to his own barracks at a quick pace.

Wilson watched for a moment before heading into his own barracks more than a little confused, but too tired at the moment to worry about it. First he'd get some food and sleep then worry about his new situation.

**TBC…**

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"He's the guy" Hogan said in a low voice as he moved past his core group of Kinch, Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter.

They exchanged a puzzled look before following their commander around the corner and into the barracks. Hogan was pouring himself a cup of coffee as they filed in and gathered round the common table. Other members of their barracks perked up, turning their attention toward the group that had just entered. Out on the compound, it was SOP for anyone not already involved in an operation to act as though nothing was happening, was going to happen, or had happened. In the barracks, however, the hear nothing, see nothing, know nothing rule was more relaxed and the men took advantage of it, leaning forward to hear of any new developments.

"How can you be sure, colonel?" Newkirk asked as he sat down in his chair and looked up at Hogan.

Hogan turned and began a slow pace along the length of the room. "What's one thing we could really use, especially if we're going to expand our operation?"

"A few more tunnels across camp would be nice," Carter chipped in from his seat.

"And a wine cellar would do wonders for moral," LeBeau said as he leaned his elbows on the table.

Newkirk threw a sideways glance to the Frenchman. "Why not a free pass out of Gestapo headquarters? For those nights when you really haven't got the time."

A few chuckles followed the remark and Hogan drew a smile as he glanced around at his men. "Why not a tunnel to Berchtesgaden? We could place a nice little gift under Hitler's bed room…No, I'm talking about a medic. Plus, he was hiding something when I was talking to him. Add in that code they gave us and I'll bet my next Red Cross package he's a doctor or something close to it. Wouldn't a doctor be on the wish list for a group in the espionage, sabotage, and escape business?" He stopped his pacing and looked at each of his men in turn, scanning around the room to take in everyone.

Hogan gave a short nod as if confirming it to himself, and downed his now cold coffee in one gulp. "It'd make sense. We'll check him out tomorrow, try the code on him and see what happens." He turned to his quarters, placing his cup on the table and heading for his door. "But it's a pretty good coincidence if he isn't the guy." He closed the door behind him, leaving the rest of the room to think it over.

"You know what would be really nice?" Olsen asked, breaking the silence again as he lay down in his bunk and turned back to the ragged magazine he had been looking through for the hundredth time, "a sun lamp."

" _I_  think things would be much better if we had  _girls_ ," someone spoke up in the corner instigating a round of chuckles as the other prisoners quickly seconded the motion.

On the other side of the door, Hogan listened to the bantering as the men turned back to their previous tasks. He sat down on his lower bunk and pulled out some paper to start planning the modifications they'd need to make if he was right. The more he thought about it the more he knew the new man had to be the one sent from London.

_A doctor,_  he thought, a smile growing on his face.  _If there was one thing we could have really used it would be a doctor, looks like London did right._ He smiled again, wider this time as he realized how much tension knowing a trained doctor was in camp released from his shoulders. This would make getting his men out of there alive much easier.

* * *

Wilson hadn't realized how tired he was until his head hit the thin mattress covering his bunk. It had crept up on him, camouflaged by the adrenaline that came with being in the hands of the enemy. It didn't appear until he was horizontal on a bed that didn't have any right to be comfortable. There was no pillow and the mattress was filled with wood shavings and who knew what else but it still felt like the softest, most comfortable bed he'd ever had. He didn't even have the time to say thank you to the corporal who directed him to the bunk before he flopped down into a deep and exhausted sleep.

When Wilson woke several hours later he felt he was looking at his surroundings for the first time as he struggled to remember where he was. Then it came to him like a shock of cold water: a POW camp. Right, he'd been capture, how could he've forgotten? He shook his head to remove any other cobwebs and rubbed the sleepy haze out of his eyes before sitting up. Then, swinging his legs over the side he took a good look at his home for the rest of the war or until he escaped, whichever came first.

The building was one open room cluttered by fifteen bunk beds arranged in rows along the wall for maximum free space. There was one common table and a wood stove in the center of the room, neither of which looked big enough to service all the men that could potentially live in the cramp quarters. At one free spot along the wall there was also a single table with a basin for water. The windows were fairly large and, besides the one bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, the only source of light that Wilson could see. At the moment the shudders were thrown open to allow the maximum amount of sunlight to filter through the dingy windows, though he noticed the shudders closest to him had been closed.

"How ya'll feeling, sergeant?" a voice said from his left.

Wilson looked up to see a middle aged man leaning with his arms crossed against the bunk. His face was weather beaten and his accent held a southern twang that betrayed his American origins more than his worn uniform.

"Better," Wilson said, giving his eyes another rub as his stomach let loose a loud growl. "But hungry," he added with an embarrassed grin.

The sergeant smiled in return, "Not surprised, ya've been asleep all day, missed breakfast and lunch. I'm assigned to this barracks, too, Sergeant Henry McMann." The older man held out his hand in way of greeting.

"Joe Wilson," Wilson stood up, his legs stiff from the past twenty-four hours, and took the hand with a firm shake.

"C'mon, we saved ya some grub and I'll show you the way to the showers." McMann waved for Wilson to follow and they headed out into the compound. "A medic huh? That's good we can always use a medic. Shot down in last night's raid?"

"Yeah," Wilson said, thankful that his barracks mate was doing most of the talking as they strolled across the camp. The sun was already heading for the horizon and Wilson realized just how long he'd been asleep.

"Don't worry 'bout feeling outta place. Ya'll settle down real quick, once the Colonel gets ya set up."

"Not sure if I want to settle down," Wilson muttered to himself before speaking a little louder, "How long have you been here?"

"Going on a year now. It's not as bad as it looks, besides being terrible that is," McMann said in a half joking tone as they reach a large wooden and concrete building.

The shower was ice cold but luckily the day was warm. By the time he got out ten minutes later, Wilson felt like a new man. Perhaps things weren't so bad, no camp could be completely escape proof. It was just a matter of finding the right way to go about it.

Wilson came out into the sunlight to find McMann talking to another sergeant. The new man was tall and gangly. Still wearing a beat-up fleece bomber's jacket and hat despite the warm weather, the new sergeant moved toward him when McMann pointed him out. He came up to Wilson with his hands in his pockets, a wide open smile on his face.

"Hi!" the new man said, extending his hand, "I'm Andrew Carter. I'm supposed to bring you round to see Colonel Hogan when you're ready." There was a pause as the young man seemed to think over what he had just said, "Not that I'd force you to go right now. I mean you're probably pretty hungry since you haven't eaten yet, right? McMann said you hadn't. But the colonel really doesn't like to be kept waiting, though he'd understand if you really had to have at least something to eat before seeing him. I mean nobody would want you to fall over or anything, and Colonel Hogan's a really nice guy so I know he'd want-"

Carter didn't seem to be stopping any time soon, so Wilson held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. "It's alright," he said loudly. He didn't want to be rude but the kid hadn't taken a single breath since he'd started talking and Wilson was afraid he'd fall over if he didn't come up for air soon. "Dinner will hold for a little while longer, I'm not going to fall over. Let's not keep the colonel waiting."

Carter started off toward the barracks Hogan had pointed towards that morning. As they walked through the compound other prisoners called out greetings to Carter and the young sergeant waved back keeping a running commentary as they walked. "That's Olsen. He's from my barracks. Oh, and over there is the guards' barracks, you shouldn't go around there if you can help it. I mean some of the guards are alright, like Shultz and Langenscheidt, but some of them are real mean."

Wilson listened to the constant chatter as they came to Barracks two. The kid definitely knew the camp and he seemed willing to share, maybe if Wilson spent some time talking to him he'd get something useful. He put that thought in the back of his mind as they walked into barracks 2, Carter leading the way.

The barracks was similar to his own, except the common room was smaller with fewer bunks. The bunks were arranged around a common table and stove, similar to those in barracks four. A few men were seated around the table playing a card game, one in a British RAF uniform, another shorter man with a red barrette and clearly French, along with two Americans. There were a few other men around on bunks. The main difference was the door on the right side of the room marked with a sign that read "Private". Wilson guessed those were Hogan's quarters. Carter moved toward the door, knocking before he opened it and leaned in.

"Wilson's here to see you, sir," he reported then stood back and waved for Wilson to go in before closing the door.

It looked like a combination of the colonel's private quarters and office with a two bed bunk on one side and a desk with a chair on the other. Wilson came to attention with a salute, saying "Sergeant Wilson reporting, sir."

Hogan casually returned the salute. "At ease. We don't stand on ceremony around here, quarters are a little too tight for it."

"Yes, sir," Wilson eased his stance as Hogan continued.

"Getting settled in?"

"Yes, sir. Though up till now all I've really done is caught up on my sleep and showered, but everyone I've met so far has been very helpful."

"Good," Hogan nodded, "Everybody here's been in your shoes at one point. If you need anything just ask. How much medical training do you have?"

Wilson was hesitant to give up any information to someone he didn't really know, officer or not, but he'd have to start trusting someone eventually. "I was studying to be a doctor when I went in, getting ready to take my medical exams for my license. When I was drafted I requested to be a medic."

Hogan crossed his arms over his chest and smiled as if confirming something to himself before continuing, "All right, we can use you in our sick ward, which I should warn you is little more than a room with some cots in it. The few medics we have at the moment have only enough training for basic first aid, nothing more extensive so you'll be in charge. When you get a chance have someone show you where it is and get a list of supplies you see are missing that we can use, I'll take them to Klink."

Wilson could feel himself getting sucked in, like being thrown a sales pitch for a car he really didn't want. He hadn't been in camp for twelve hours and already he was being placed in charge of the prisoners' medical needs. If he had any hope of escaping he couldn't in good conscious take the assignment and then leave his patients with no doctor. Granted most of the men he'd seen seemed to be in relatively good shape with some signs of stress, from the colonel standing before him as well as others, but that was to be expected when a prisoner of the enemy. Still, it was the warm season and undoubtedly the winter months would bring their own health problems but he had his own mission to accomplish. "Well, sir, about that…" Wilson started, wracking his brain for a reason not to become Chief Medical Officer.

Hogan didn't even pay attention to him, instead he just turned away and continued on, "We really could use a doctor here. You know I think even I'm coming down with blue moon fever." Hogan turned back toward him with an expectant look in his face.

Wilson froze his brain skidding to a halt as he heard the beginning half of the recognition code.  _That's not possible_ , he thought briefly to himself,  _it doesn't make sense_. He opened his mouth to respond when he realized the colonel was still looking at him with expectation. It took a couple of tries to get his voice working again but he finally managed to push out "I can help, open your mouth and say AH."

Hogan's half smile split wide open over his face, "Good to have you with us, sergeant."

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Wilson just stood there, more confused and shocked than anything else. Maybe he was still dreaming, or maybe one of the guards hit him over the head and he just didn't remember.  _There's gotta be a mistake_ , he said to himself,  _but he knew the recognition code_. "Sir, could you tell me what the hell is going on? Were you captured?"

"Well considering that this is a prison camp and I  _am_ the senior prisoner here, then I would say yes," Hogan laughed.

"But…" Wilson started looking around the room, suddenly unsure of himself, "This is a  _prison_ camp. I was told I would be helping an underground agent."

"Maybe you should sit down," Hogan motioned for the lower bed, taking the chair from his desk. He paused gathering his thoughts as Wilson gratefully took the seat. "It is a prison camp but it's also a processing center for escaping prisoners of war. The underground directs allied fliers and refugees our way and we outfit them with food, maps, clothing, and documents. Then send them back to London."

Wilson could hear unmistakable pride in Hogan's voice as he explained the setup, could see it in his eyes, too, as they shown out of his face with bright intensity. "But how? The barbed wire, the guards, dogs…"

"Are all completely useless if you don't know how to manage them. You've met our kommandant. The man couldn't command his way out of a paper bag." The colonel's smile grew wider giving Wilson the feeling he was being let in on some insanely large joke.

Thinking back to Klink, he did seem too preoccupied by his paper work to even double check Wilson's identity much less ask him a few questions. Then there was the way Hogan had barged into the office as though he'd owned the building. The idea seemed ludicrous but at the same time almost possible. "So  _this_ is my assignment." Yes, Wilson was repeating the obvious, something he hated doing, but couldn’t stop himself at the moment.

Hogan nodded, leaning back in his seat. "You're main concern will be tending to the health of the transient escapees as they come through as well as that of the men in this camp. Someone will give you the full tour of our set up later, when you're more settled. Do not talk about the operation to anyone unless they've been given the clear by me. At the moment, we're sure of all the prisoners in camp, but it's possible that the krauts might try to sneak in a few ringers with a new shipment of prisoners. The entire operation is need to know so if I or one of my staff have not told you what's going on ignore it."

"Yes sir," Wilson replied, more from habit than anything. His head was still reeling from what he'd just found out and all the implications that came with it. "So the no escape record?"

"Is a cover to keep Klink in charge," Hogan confirmed. "There are no escapes allowed from this camp."

Wilson nodded his head, "Yes sir, they explained that the assignment would be for the duration. I…just didn't quite understand what they meant."

"And do you understand now?" Hogan said in a serious tone that belied his previous humor. "There's a lot at stake in this, a lot of lives could be put at jeopardy if mistakes are made."

"I believe I do, sir. Though, with all due respect, the entire thing sounds crazy," Wilson admitted before he could stop himself.

Hogan let out a thousand megawatt smile that was probably very similar to the smile the fox worn as it sat in the chicken coop. "That's good, if it's crazy the Nazis will never expect it, much less believe it."

Wilson couldn't deny that. Even as he left barracks 2 after meeting Hogan's staff and the other men in their bunk house, he couldn't help but wonder how long an operation like this could survive or even  _if_  it could survive. It seemed almost too big, too complicated to work. There were too many people involved. Eventually someone would crack and tell the Gestapo everything and they'd all be lined up and shot. It was then that he noticed a group of guards and prisoners arguing over a flower arrangement in front of the commandant's office. If what he could tell from the guards' broken English was correct they wanted red flowers by the commandant while the prisoners preferred blue. He had to stop and stare for a moment before shaking his head in admiration. It had to be a result of Hogan's work here in camp, lulling the guards into a sense of security or something. Perhaps it would work out after all, at least for a little while.

"They sent me to an insane asylum," Wilson muttered to himself with another shake of the head before turning back to his own barracks to find some dinner.

* * *

Hogan rubbed his raw eyes. He'd been inside for too long, looking at too many forms, maps, and papers. It probably didn't help that Klink had the sudden urge last night to call a surprise bunk inspection, and then stand in his room and talk for goodness knows how long about his problems with Berlin. No amount of hinting or sarcastic comments from Hogan had gotten it through the man's head that all he wanted to do was go to sleep. He would have taken a cooler sentence if it would at least get him some peace and quiet, but the kommandant had the gall to be too dimwitted to take a hint or insult at face value so all Hogan had loss was another night' sleep. It was time he got outside and away from his office. The sunshine would help wake him up.

Hogan stepped out of the barracks and took a deep breath of the fresh air. If you smelled carefully you could smell the nearby forest over the kitchen currently cooking what was supposedly an edible lunch. He stepped off in the direction of the medical hut. They'd had their new medic for almost a week, plenty of time for Wilson to get things in order. Not knowing much about medicine himself, Hogan had left that to their new medic to determine and direct for the best of the men, so long as it didn't interfere with the functioning of their main operation. It was time he checked up on the progress Wilson had made in organizing his section of camp business.

"So how are things going, Sergeant?" Hogan glanced around the still sparse hut as he strode through the door. There were a few cots set up along the walls and a couple of tables placed at one end of the long room. To one side a few men were trying to rig a curtain in place so it could slide across the room providing privacy if a patient or the medic desired. Wilson stood halfway down the makeshift ward, running over a paper he had in his hand, making an odd note here and there on the paper and looked up as he heard Hogan's question.

Wilson glanced around at the shelves conspicuously empty of much needed medical supplies. A few boxes of general medicines and bandages sat in the corner, but nothing for a serious injury was present. "We could really use some real medicine, sir," Wilson said, not bothering to beat around the bush. "Aspirin and bandages are fine for sprains and other minor injuries, but if something more than that occurs we'll be in trouble."

Hogan nodded, well aware of their lack of medical supplies. "I'll talk to Klink about it,"  _again_  he added silently to himself. He lowered his voice out of habit, "Until then you have the emergency supply down in the tunnels, but we don't have much there either, I'm afraid. London hasn't been able to send the supply drop with your stuff yet."

"We'll manage until then, sir," Wilson assured the colonel. "As for the rest. We've started the checkups for the camp. They've gone very well so far, not nearly as many medical problems as I would initially expect," Wilson reported turning to face Hogan.

Hogan couldn't deny hearing a qualified doctor, or as close to a real doctor as they were going to get, say it was reassuring. They'd been particularly careful about camp health, using whatever supplies they could get from the outside to avoid the rumored fates of other camps. They'd heard stories of epidemics and food shortages from other POW camps, some of them from reliable sources. Still, the next sentence the made him stop.

"In fact, I could finish one more right now."

Hogan's eyes narrowed and his arms folded over his chest, stiffening at the insinuation. Getting poked and prodded was not what he had in mind when he went for a breath of air.

Wilson must have seen the beginning of a refusal because he took a breath and said, "Now Colonel, everyone in camp needs to get checked out so I know where we stand medically and considering you're in charge don't you think it's doubly important that you stay healthy to keep an eye on things?"

"I feel fine, Sergeant. If I start to get sick I'll be sure to tell you but at the moment it's not necessary and I'm busy enough as it is." Hogan stood his ground.

"I'll only take a moment, sir," the medic assured him, "And it'll be a good example to the men."

They stared at one another for a few moments, waiting to see who would crack first. The medic shifted slightly under Hogan's glare but stood his ground. With a faint roll of his eyes Hogan motioned for Wilson to lead the way. He would waste more time trying to wait out the man than the actual checkup would take. Besides, Wilson did have a point, about giving everyone a basic look over to get an understanding for the overall health of the camp. Grumbling faintly under his breath Hogan followed Wilson to one of the already curtained areas.

"How many hours of sleep have you been getting a night?" Wilson started off, as he slipped a blood pressure gauge around Hogan's arm.

Hogan threw him a slightly bemused glance out of the corner of his eye at Wilson's tone of voice. If it hadn't been for the run-down building around and the barb wired camp just beyond that they could be a regular doctor and patient going over the annual checkup back in the states. When he saw the medic was still waiting for an answer he cleared his throat. "Well, lights out is at 2100 and morning roll call is at 0500, you tell me."

Wilson gave him a disapproving look before returning his attention back to the exam. "You know what I mean, sir. What about the business off the books?"

Hogan shrugged, "Busy as usual."

"How busy?" Wilson persisted.

"As busy as it always is," Hogan continued with a non-committal answer.

There was a pause as Wilson stopped to glare at him, irritation clearly shinning through the formal doctor patient rapport they had going for the moment.  _Don't like it?_ Hogan thought to himself,  _tough, that's need to know and you should know that_.

Just as Wilson was opening his mouth to reply they heard LeBeau's voice from the other side of the curtain asking one of the other men on the other side of the room, "Have you seen  _Colonel_  Hogan? He is need right away in Barracks 2."

Hogan didn't need a second invitation. "Over here LeBeau!" he called through the curtain, slipping out of the blood pressure cuff and rolling down his sleeve. He stepped out into the main room where LeBeau was waiting.

"Message coming in," the French man said in a lowered voice.

Hogan nodded and led the way to the door. "We'll have to continue this later, sergeant." He thought he could hear some muttering coming from the chief medic but chose to ignore it. The momentary tension was probably just the amount of work both of them had had in the past week, and Wilson was still getting used to life as a POW. Even so, Hogan couldn't help but hope it wouldn't come back to bite him later before shaking his head and turning his mind to whatever the message may contain.

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Business upstairs was slow. As Wilson had observed when he'd first arrived, the prisoners seemed to be in relatively good shape, only minor injuries and the typical camp diseases. He was surprised to find that half his patients he tended from the compound were suffering from faked illness. Prisoners would appear with bogus injuries and sicknesses, either for some scheme Hogan and his cohorts had thought up or the supplies that would have been used were then moved down into the tunnels for transit escapees and new supplies were requested. It was a brilliant plan, actually, and Wilson figured if he had any difficulty making a living after the war he'd have plenty of practice in insurance fraud.

The downstairs business, on the other hand, was booming. Already, Wilson had treated several patients, two broken ankles from downed fliers, one set of broken ribs on an escaped prisoner, and one gunshot wound on a local resistance member which, luckily, was relatively simple. The only concern he had was performing many more similar or more complicated surgeries inside the dark and damp tunnels. The underground passages might be ideal for hiding the fugitives of the Third Reich, but they left much to be desired as an operating room. They reeked with infection from the moisture and constant contaminations; still there was little choice.

Perhaps if Wilson talked to Colonel Hogan he'd be able to convince the colonel they needed a tunnel room lined with wood. That could at least be an attempt at sterile conditions and help toward removing the constant fall of dirt and dust when he had to dig around in the next man's leg for an errant bullet. Of course, that would require that he actually be able to speak with the colonel. Lately, it seemed Hogan had been deliberately avoiding him, but every time that thought struck Wilson he quickly dismissed it, telling himself that the colonel was busy and it was a large camp.

Even without the patients, Wilson found ways to help in the tunnels. He had a separate inventory of medical supplies to keep track of from the official supplies provided by the Red Cross. Baker, one of the men from Hogan's barracks was helping him review their stock down to the last eye dropper. Wilson wanted to know exactly how much he had to work with in case a serious injury occurred. They carefully disassembled the storage room, pulling out and opening each box to verify the contents since some of them were mislabeled for some reason that Baker wouldn't go into depth about.

"What is this?" Wilson asked as he found one box without any labeling printed on it. It was filled with bottles marked B-247 and filled with small white pills. He didn't recognize the marking on the bottles and there was no other identification on the medication.

Baker came and peered over Wilson's shoulder, reading the label on the bottles. "Oh, those are the knock-out pills London sent."

"Knock-out pills?" Wilson asked as he began to tally up the bottles on his count list.

"Yeah," Baker said, turning back to his box of pressure bandages. "London and Colonel Hogan have this idea that eventually we'll move more into the espionage racket. I mean, we've done a little of that already, but we could get some valuable intel with a little more preparation. And I mean, who ever heard of a spy that didn't have a good supply of knock out pills?" Baker added with a grin and a shrug.

Wilson glanced over his shoulder half impressed and half exasperated by the man's casual attitude toward the entire operation. "You know your professional attitude toward this business is astounding, like something out of a dime novel," he said with flat sarcasm. At least he was getting more comfortable with the other prisoners in camp. "Are they safe?" Wilson held one of the bottles up to the lit lantern and rattled it for a moment.

Baker shrugged again and closed up his box. "London's tested it. They said it works fine. And the colonel tested a couple on one of the guards just to be sure. Nothing bad happened then. A couple of those pills put him to sleep for hours."

"Really? Too bad the colonel won't take any." Wilson said and closed up the box. "Secret tunnels, knock-out pills, next thing you'll be telling me you've got ex-ray glasses in the back behind the radio."

"Nah," Baker laughed, "We're still waiting for the requisition to go through on those." He picked up a couple of the boxes and moved them out into the passage. "We can probably stack these here for now, so we don't recount anything. It supposed to be a quiet night, not even any raids or underground work scheduled so they won't be getting in the way."

"If that's so then Colonel Hogan will have some free time for his physical," Wilson said as he moved out the boxes he had looked over to add to the finished pile.

Baker just shook his head and flicked one of the lamps as it sputtered, throwing the shadows into crazed motion. "Good luck with that. Colonel Hogan's awfully stubborn about those things. I'll lay money down that you never get that physical done."

"Make it a chocolate bar and you're on," Wilson said, surprising even himself. This place must be getting to him already. "I'm just as stubborn as he is."

* * *

"Colonel!"

Hogan cringed at the voice of his new chief medic. He didn't like to admit that he'd been avoiding Wilson, but he had and probably would still be if the medic hadn't caught him out in the open compound. A quick glance around confirmed there was nowhere to duck, and nothing to detour or distract him. A part of Hogan berated himself for doing it. After all, Stalag 13 was basically under his control, he really shouldn't have to hide from anybody unless the situation warranted it, especially from one of his own men. Still, he could help but hope for a building to jump behind if only to avoid another conversation about his general health.

With nowhere to go, Hogan fixed a pleasant look on his face and turned to meet the approaching medic. "Something I can do for you, Sergeant?"

Wilson strode up to him quickly, like he was afraid Hogan would disappear before he got there, "Yes, sir. I was wondering when you were going to finish you medical checkup. I know you've been busy, but it would really only take a moment."

Hogan had to consciously stop the exasperation from showing on his face. Obviously, Wilson had decided to cut to the chase unlike the last few times when he'd broached the subject with more tact, beginning with other matters that required attention.  _He must be getting frustrated_ , Hogan thought before replying, "Yes Sergeant, I have been very busy, besides-"

"But not tonight," Wilson interrupted, making Hogan stop.

"Excuse me?" Hogan said, keeping hold of his patience with a death grip for fear it’d leave all together.

"You're not busy tonight," Wilson repeated, with a quick look around to make sure no one else was near, "From what I understand nothing is happening tonight, for anyone. There's not even a scheduled radio broadcast."

"And who told you that?" Hogan asked. Now he was tempted to just let his well-developed temper out just a little, but there really wasn't a cause for it. Wilson was a part of the organization, sent over specifically from London for Pete's sake. Of course, no one would worry about telling him something like that. "It doesn't matter," he said, "I'll have other work to do in my office so I'm sure I won't have time for it. Besides, as I said before, I'm fine. This exam can wait until next week when the activity dies down some more." Maybe if he just put it off enough Wilson would forget it.

Wilson stared back him as though he knew exactly what was happening. "That's alright, sir. You're blood pressure reading was high earlier so I would prefer to do it sooner, but if it has to wait until next week it'll probably be fine. I'll stop by anyway in case you do get a free moment." Wilson gave a quick salute, a habit he still hadn't broken, and turned back the way he'd come.

Hogan didn't like the way Wilson seemed to give in so easily, but for the moment he'd take it. More than likely, he'd get nagged again tonight but he felt confident he'd be able to delay that as well. If there was one the thing Hogan could do it was delay.

* * *

One thing that surprised and worried Wilson the most after the initial shock of Hogan's operation had worn off was the amount of plans he ran across that  _didn't_ come from Hogan. True, none of them were as large scale, resourceful, or entirely as insane as the colonel's typical operation, if the stories were to be believed, but it was not from a lack of trying. Almost from the instant a new prisoner was brought into the operation it seemed Hogan started to corrupt them. The younger prisoners idolized him and followed his example with trying to get away with as much as possible with the guards. More than once he heard some private or corporal saying "and the guards were so confused. Do you think Colonel Hogan would be impressed?"

Wilson honestly didn't know whether to be more worried by the antics that he saw from his fellow prisoners, by the fact that he was getting used to it, or by the fact that he, too, now had a plan. Perhaps the fact that he couldn't decide which of those three things he should be worried about was the most troubling evidence that he'd already been in camp too long. Or it could be that Hogan was obviously just as corrupting an influence on him as it was on his compatriots almost ten years younger than himself.

To say Wilson had doubts about his plan would be an understatement, probably the biggest understatement of the past year. Every minute that passed he thought of a new way in which the entire thing could turn horribly wrong. It was like a game of worst-case-scenario gone out of control. What if something happened and they needed the colonel's particular touch? There was a good reason why Hogan was on call virtually 24/7 in camp. The many emergency situations that he knew of that could spring up without warning was probably only outnumbered by the many emergency situations that he  _didn't_ know of and each could cost someone their life. However, if they kept on that same thinking and constantly ran on high alert Hogan would probably burn out within the year, if not less. The man needed a rest and Wilson would be damned if he didn't get it. After all, now Wilson's own neck relied on the colonel staying as healthy and sane as possible.

Having once again talked himself into it, Wilson picked up his pace across the compound to Barracks two. It was after evening roll call but only just before lights out so technically he wasn't breaking any rules by still being out on the grounds. At least, that's what he told himself. Still, the near silent and deserted compound brought goose pimples up across his neck and arms and he stayed in as much shadow as possible. Until, he finally found himself knocking on barracks two.

Carter cracked the door open, already changed for bed. "We still have fifteen minutes before lights out Shultz!" he complained before recognizing the medic. "Oh hi Wilson, what are you doing here?"

Wilson stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "I'm just here to see the colonel." The lights were a little brighter in this barracks than his own and he could see Baker on his bunk in the corner with a smug smile on his face.

Carter nodded his head toward the colonel's door. "He's in his office, but I don't know if he'll have time. He was looking over some maps last I saw, and he asked for more coffee and you know when people drink coffee late at night like this-"

Wilson chuckled as he cut Carter off, "College and medical school, trust I know what that means. Here I'll bring it in to him."

Wilson took the steaming mug LeBeau handed him and headed for the colonel's door. He knocked and went into the room when Hogan responded, suddenly feeling very nervous. Hogan was at his desk, back to the door comparing two maps with a magnifying glass. The desk light gave added illumination to the area maps as the over head lamp swayed slightly back and forth.

"Evening, sir," Wilson said, not bothering to salute with a medical bag in one hand and the coffee mug in the other. "Do you have a minute?"

"Evening, Wilson," Hogan said, not bothering to look up from the maps, in fact he seemed to be studying them more intensely than before. "Not at the moment, these need to get back to the underground in a couple days. I want to make sure they're ready with plenty of time to spare."

"Doesn't seem too pressing," Wilson said, stepping closer almost tempted to look over Hogan's shoulder. "I have everything I need for your checkup. It'd only take a minute."

"You never know what may come up," Hogan said casually, "better to get it done early."

Wilson scowled at Hogan's back before rolling his eyes and his setting the bag down. "Well, at least tell me you're going to get a good night's sleep tonight."

"I have every intention to," Hogan said noncommittally.

The fact that Hogan was still completely dressed did not escape Wilson's notice. "Did you ever hear the term workaholic, sir?"

"Looks who's making house calls fifteen minutes before lights out," Hogan shot back with only a touch of annoyance in his voice to match Wilson's tone.

Wilson rolled his eyes one more time, something he'd found himself doing more and more. A psychologist would have a field day in camp. The harmless chatter managed to calm his nerves a little, but they shot up again as he decided to act. Talking was getting him nowhere so he pulled two of the sleeping pills he'd found with Baker from his pocket and dropped them into the coffee mug. They dissolved instantly in the hot liquid.

"Well, at least have your coffee so you're not starting at those with closed eyelids." He set the coffee mug down next to Hogan who took and immediate gulp.

"Thanks," Hogan said, shooting a pang of guilt through Wilson, "can you believe this stuff actually tastes good right now?"

"That I can believe," Wilson said, trying to push back the sudden feeling that he was betraying his commanding officer. That notion hadn't really struck him until there was no turning back. "What I can't believe is that it's starting to taste good to  _me_."

Hogan started to laugh, but ended in a large yawn and taking another gulp of coffee to wake himself up some more. It only made the colonel's eyes droop all the more. Wilson stepped up closer to the colonel's chair incase Hogan suddenly fell over. The officer was half out already with only a few gulps of coffee. Either that drug was very strong, or Hogan was already dead tired.  _Probably a little of both_ , Wilson thought.

"You're looking pretty tired, sir," Wilson said, "Maybe we should get you to bed."

Hogan didn't really respond, only let out another yawn as Wilson helped him to his feet and over to the bottom bunk. The medic pulled back the blanket and helped his CO into bed, taking the pillow from the top bunk and putting it under Hogan's head. He took off Hogan's shoes and grabbed his medical bag. The exam didn't take long, it was only the barest of medical check up to make sure there was nothing obviously wrong. The fact that it was done on a patient who was under the influence of an unknown drug tugged on Wilson's conscience, but desperate times called for desperate measures. At least, that was what Wilson told himself. When he was done he pulled the blanket over the sleeping man and packed up his instruments.

Wilson folded the maps up on the desk and placed them in one of the secret compartments he'd seen Hogan use the week before, clearing the desk of anything suspicious. Taking the half empty coffee mug, he sniffed the contents carefully, smelling nothing out of the ordinary with the contents. Then, muttering to himself about spy knock-out pills, dumped the rest of the contents out the window. A quick scan of the room and he turned out both lights before closing the door behind him. It was already past lights out and he crept through the quiet and dark barracks in deference to the other sleeping men.

"Night, Wilson," Carter muttered, half asleep as Wilson left barracks two.

"Night," the medic whispered back and closed the door.

When Wilson finally got back to his own bunk the rest of his barracks was in bed as well. Someone asked where he'd been before taking his answer to see the colonel and rolling over to fall asleep. Wilson got ready for bed in the dark as quietly as possible and climbed under his own blanket. If Baker and London were right the actual dose would only keep Hogan asleep for an hour or so, but the officer would just naturally sleep until roll call.

Wilson couldn't help the sense of satisfaction that pulled his mouth up in a small smile, warring with his guilty conscience. There'd be hell to pay in the morning when Hogan woke up and figured out what had happened. He might even end up in the cooler for a few days. It wouldn't be hard for Hogan to arrange. Wilson tried not to think of the idea that he might get sent home over this. The word "court-martial" kept ringing through the back of his head, but he hoped that would be too much trouble for the colonel to bother arranging.

Hopefully, he'd be able to explain his way out of the worst punishments. He did have a good reason for what he'd done, and it had been mostly thought through. That was, if the colonel decided he would  _listen_  to reason, something that was not completely guaranteed in this case. The phrase, "London told me I could," didn't sound like a good defense either since technically they hadn't said that at all, though they had said they needed someone who would be a match for Hogan's stubbornness. Still, this probably wasn't what they were thinking of at the time.

Whatever would happen would happen in the morning, he told himself and tried to find sleep which wouldn't come.

TBC…

 


	8. Chapter 8

Hogan woke slowly, vaguely aware of activity beginning out in the compound. He rolled over hoping to get a few more minutes before having to get up for roll call but frowned as his bed clothes twisted strangely beneath him. Squirming to get comfortable again he glanced down realizing he was still in his clothes from yesterday.  _Huh,_  he thought,  _that's weird._  It was another few seconds before realization crash over him like a bucket of cold water. Hogan's eyes snapped open and he shot up in bed, finding himself on the lower bunk instead of his usual upper bunk.  _Wilson._

The last thing Hogan remembered clearly was Wilson coming in, wanting to give him a physical. Then the medic handed him a cup of coffee and it was goodnight nurse.  _He drugged me!_  The second realization had Hogan out of bed and on his feet just as a knock and muffled voice came through the door.

"Roll call, Colonel."

Hogan grunted in response, not trusting himself to speak at the moment. He might end up tearing some poor bystander's head off before he could get to the real culprit. He stepped out to formation doing his best to cover his temper from showing in his expression. It was probably a lucky thing he had roll call before confronting the medic. He couldn't send a dead medic back to London for a court-martial. The brief few moments it took to run through the roll did little to banish his temper, though, and it re-ignited as Hogan set off across the compound directly from formation, his sights set on barracks five.

Having a camp medic was the  _worst_  idea London had come up with yet, Hogan silently fumed to himself as he stormed his way across the compound. Sure, it seemed like a good idea at the superficial level, someone to take care of the men's medical needs and any injuries sustained during missions, but the practical application of the plan only turned into one large headache.

Wilson wasn't in his barracks, despite the early hour, so Hogan turned around and headed straight to the medical hut. He didn't pause when he reached the door, didn't even bother to knock. Hogan threw it open with the force of a typhoon, bouncing the door off the wall. The two assistant medics in the ward jumped in surprise at his sudden entrance but the CMO remained facing a shelf, studiously regarding the boxes stacked there clipboard and pencil in hand. One look at Hogan's face and the two assistants scuttled out the door with mumbled excuses.

"Wilson," Hogan barked, working to keep from shouting.

The sergeant, who had managed to ignore Hogan till then, flinched at hearing his name much to Hogan's satisfaction. It was always best to be respected as a commanding officer, but there was something to be said for there to be a little fear there as well. Still when Wilson turned to face his commanding officer his face was set in a carefully neutral expression. Hogan didn't give him the chance to say so much as "Good morning sir," before he growled, "Tunnel,  _now,_ " then marched the medic to their newly installed tunnel entrance.

Descending after the sergeant, Hogan led the way down the dark and rough passage. The tunnel, having only recently been completed, still needed some of the finishing clean up that was given to all their long term constructions. The floor still needed evening out. The walls needed extra shoring and support. Most importantly, they still needed to install extra lights, only the bare minimum hung from the walls making the uneven floor doubly treacherous for sprained ankles. It didn't slow the two men as Hogan led the way to a more lightened section. The branch joined with another off-shoot from the main tunnel.

Hogan turned away from main hub, aiming instead for another recently finished storage room on the outer fringes of their system. He grabbed an extra lamp from the wall and entered the partially lit and square room, setting the extra light down on the floor. Wilson followed with a stiff posture, settling into an equally stiff attention, his face the careful blank of someone who knows when they're in trouble.

"You want to explain to me what happened last night, Sergeant?" Hogan glared at the man before him as Wilson continued to stand at stiff attention, staring at the wall.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, sir," Wilson replied evenly.

Hogan grunted to himself. Wilson was pulling the ignorance card for his defense. Hogan had used the same trick on Klink more times than he could count and had heard Shultz's "I know nothing" plea at least ten times more than that, so he recognized the ploy for what it was. Wilson could deny all he wanted but it wasn't going to stop Hogan.

"Let me rephrase that," Hogan started again, crossing his arms over his chest, "explain what happened last night,  _Private_."

Wilson's shoulders dropped fractionally and a half frustrated half resigned looked crossed his face before the medic rallied himself and continued his indifferent stare at the wall. "I came to your barracks to give you a physical."

"You drugged my coffee," Hogan said with blunt finality. He was getting tired of running around in verbal circles.

There was a pause as Wilson seemed to think it over. "Well, I did feel conflicted about it, sir," Wilson said at stiff attention.

" _CONFLICTED?_ " Hogan repeated in disbelief. He wasn't sure whether to admire the man's audacity or to rip his head off right then and there.

"Yes, sir, and normally I wouldn't turn to such…extreme measures, but I feel I was given no other choice."

Hogan couldn't believe what he was hearing. He suddenly realized he was pacing back and forth along the width off room, his tension finding a release before he managed to kill their one and only doctor.

The moment of silence stretched out until Wilson spoke up again. "With all due respect, Sir, I was only carrying out my duty as Chief Medical Officer-"

"Your duty does not include endangering this operation." Hogan said, finally ready to open his mouth again without the fear of yelling. "What if Klink had called a surprise inspection? Or if something else happened? Forget the fact that drugging your  _superior officer_  is paramount to mutiny, our situation is too dangerous to be taking stupid risks like that."

"You take the same risks every time you leave for the night, Sir," Wilson shot back.

"I have better information to what's going on in this camp,  _Private_. Not to mention the fact that I have been here for longer than you with the most contact with Klink which puts me in a good position to anticipate what they will do next instead of just  _assuming_  things will go according to plan." Hogan had stopped pacing and was right in front of Wilson, nose to nose with the medic.

Wilson seemed to hesitate, his eyes losing contact with Hogan's for a brief moment before they locked back into the staring match again. "I was only safe guarding the men of this camp," he said with a final tone, "This entire operation depends on your being in charge to handle the missions sent over by London and any other problems or opportunities that come along the way. Your health is just as vital to this camp as the radio or the tunnels and if drugging your coffee or food to give you a physical that you should have had  _three weeks ago_  is the only way that I can insure that for the safety of both myself and the rest of the men in this camp then I suggest you gets a taste tester because I would do it again if I have to…Sir."

Hogan continued to glare at the medic, not trusting himself to speak but also not sure what to say after Wilson's little speech. The man sounded like he was giving his final defense in a court of law which, Hogan had to admit, wasn't too far from the truth considering the situation. In the end, he decided now was not the time to make any rash decisions that could very well cause problems down the line. Both of them needed to step back and let their tempers cool.

"I'll take that into consideration," Hogan said with just enough ice in his voice to let Wilson know it wasn't over yet, "Until then…" Hogan turned with a jerk of his head showing Wilson he should follow.

They headed back to the main tunnel at a fast pace as Hogan's long legs stretched his anger still needing some form of release. There were more men down in the tunnels now that the day was getting into swing and people were returning to their assigned tasks. Hogan turned into a separate room where Olsen was working his way through washing a large stack of clothes for escaping prisoners. The clothes had been delivered by the underground to help disguise escaping POW's but many of them were old and needed a thorough cleaning and mending before being used.

"Olsen, Private Wilson's going to be taking over here for you," Hogan swung around to pin Wilson down with another glare, "and after that he's going to be taking KP duty until further notice, unless there's a medical emergency that requires his attention. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Wilson said in a flat tone, the pile of clothes and shoes was going to take hours to get through.

"Good." Hogan turned and left feeling at least a little better at the look on Wilson's face. As he headed back down the tunnel he could hear Olsen asking Wilson in a strangled whisper, "What did you  _do_?"

**TBC…**


	9. Chapter 9

"Private," Wilson muttered to himself in disgust, shaking his head. Busted back down to private after being a sergeant again for just over a month. It wasn't the rank drop that bothered him. Well…not entirely the rank drop. It was the principle of the matter. Here he was getting punished for doing his job. Granted, his method was unorthodox at best, illegal at worst, but he didn't have much of an alternative.

Add to that, it was nothing more than what Hogan would have done in a similar situation. Bending rules and creative solutions were the officer’s specialty. He even encouraged it in those under his command, but as soon as those same tactics were applied to Hogan’s health it suddenly became insubordination. The civilian lurking inside Wilson grated at the double standard, while the soldier merely shrugged and replied, "What did you expect in the army?"

Wilson snorted in disgust, partially at the pile of filthy escape clothes waiting for downed fliers and partially because of the situation he had volunteered himself into by taking this assignment. He could complain if it had been an order. He could even complain if it had been a fortune of war, a series of wrong time, wrong place scenarios that landed him in camp. But no, he volunteered, accepted this assignment fully aware of the basic facts it would entail: behind enemy lines, questionable living conditions, stubborn commander, and for the duration of the war. The fact that, in the most basic sense, he knew what he was signing up for with this assignment meant there really wasn't anything he could complain about and that annoyed him more than anything.

Throwing another shirt into a tub of relatively clean water to rinse, Wilson glared down at his wrinkling hands before grabbing the next shirt. At least he wasn't being put up in front of the firing squad, though Hogan might be saving that for latter. In the end, the demotion didn't matter. He was still the Chief Medical Officer, a position he'd gotten from London, so he still some authority where it counted. If Hogan wanted to play hard ball, Wilson was ready, even if it meant spending the entire war as a private. Looking around again, Wilson suddenly got the feeling he'd be spending a lot of time washing clothes and dishes.

* * *

Hogan felt a little better when he climbed back into the barracks and headed to his office after leaving Wilson to his new tasks. He'd have plenty of time to think of a better punishment than just KP and laundry duty. Granted sending the medic home was out of the question, not only would it leave them without a doctor but it was also impractical with the no escape policy. There still had to be a way to remind Wilson who was in charge. The last thing they needed was a CMO who spiked anyone's drink that didn't do what he said.

Wilson wasn't going anywhere any time soon. There was plenty of time to mull over punishments, both standard and creative, later. Hogan pushed the matter to the bottom of his mental to do list as he searched around for the maps from the previous night. They were folded and placed in one of the secure locations around the room specifically for documents. At least, Wilson had the forethought to hide the maps after drugging Hogan.

Hogan got the maps unfolded and spread out on the desk and was just sitting down when Baker appeared at the door.

“Message from London, sir,” Baker said handing off another blue note with Kinch’s quick handwriting.

London wanted a railway bridge blown east of the camp. Hogan frowned. He checked the location described in the message with the maps spread around him. They still needed to scout out that area and didn't have the specifics for German activity and defenses. According to the message, there wasn't much time to look into it either. It was going to be tricky without accurate intelligence on the immediate vicinity around the bridge. There was also the minor fact that they'd never actually blown up an entire bridge as of yet. Though Carter would be excited at the challenge.

Hogan lowered himself into his chair, tapping his pencil in the quiet room as he ran through their options. Maybe they should bring extra men to set a perimeter around the target so the demolition team could concentrate on placing the charges. A smile split his face as he thought of putting Wilson out on the job to show the medic another aspect of Stalag 13's work. Hogan would never do it if there was another choice. It wouldn't be wise to risk their only doctor on an already risky mission, but it was nice to think about for a moment.

The smile was still there when Kinch knocked on the door to double check that Hogan had gotten the message.

"You look pleased with yourself, Colonel," Kinch said as he entered the room and caught Hogan's expression, "It wouldn't have anything to do with putting a certain medic in his place, would it?"

Hogan glanced up at Kinch, his expression half exasperation half bemusement. "This place is worse than a beauty parlor," he muttered before setting the message on the desk and turning back to his maps.

Kinch chuckled. "What else do we have to do for down time? So long as it's not classified. If you don't mind me asking sir, what did he do? Wilson refuses to comment on the whole thing, to anyone."

"He drugged my coffee!" Hogan said, a hint of his earlier anger flaring up again, though not as strong as when Hogan first woke up. "Put in a dose of sedatives last night before lights out."

"You should give him a medal along with the demotion," Kinch said, a smile showing through beneath his moustache. “At least we know he has guts.”

Hogan only scowled and quickly changed the subject. "You sure London said they wanted that bridge blown tonight?"

Taking the hint Kinch turned back to business. "Yes, I double checked with them. They said they need it done tonight before 0200, but wouldn't say more than that."

"It's too short notice," Hogan growled. "We've never done something this big before. I wish we had more time to plan it out, familiarize ourselves with the explosives and the area. We don't know what type of patrols move through that area yet."

"Carter's already getting to work on gathering material for the bombs together," Kinch said knowing it would help push Hogan past his aggravation.

"Good," Hogan nodded. "We'll use a detonator since we've got a time limit and I don't want to risk any setbacks with malfunctioning timers. Give me another ten minutes and then have the guys come up."

"Wilco, Colonel," Kinch said pausing a moment to Look at Hogan. "Well, do you feel better today?"

Hogan grumbled under his breath. Actually, he did feel better. He'd forgotten how much a good night's sleep helped. Already he'd seen a couple more possible locations for hidden supplies that he'd missed the other day, but he wasn't going to admit that to Kinch and especially not to Wilson. "It's the principle of the thing,” Hogan said after a moment. “You don't drug your commanding officer. Under normal circumstances it's unacceptable, but here the risks are just too great."

"That's true," Kinch admitted, hesitating before continuing. "But, with all due respect, sir, he wouldn't have had to do that if you'd taken your medical exam and gotten some sleep like he'd said. He is the chief medical officer, after all. He's just trying to keep you healthy and able to command this operation."

Hogan didn't respond for a moment, thinking over what Kinch had said. Kinch didn't often make speeches, but when he did he always made sense. More than once Hogan had found his advice sound and worth taking seriously. "It doesn't make it right, but… I'll take it into consideration."

Then, with a smile Kinch added, "Besides, you never know. Wilson seems like a good guy but next time he might put laxatives in your coffee instead of sedatives just to teach you a lesson."

Hogan rolled his eyes before glaring Kinch out of the room. Only after the sergeant left did he really give what Kinch said serious thought. Unfortunately, now that Wilson proved himself capable of spiking Hogan’s food, Hogan could imagine the medic doing it again. Hogan groaned maybe London could send in a professional taste-tester for their next personnel assignment, or, barring that, maybe Hogan would just enlist Shultz for the duty.

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said at the beginning of this story, it's an old one I wrote years ago as my first attempt at fanfiction. At the time, I was having difficulty ending stories, both seeing a project all the way through and knowing how to write an ending that was conclusive and satisfying. (I still struggle with this, but have gotten better.) This project was focused on that aspect of story telling more than any other. Going through this again, I see areas that could certainly be improved, but am hesitant about throwing too much time into it when I have other writing projects in the works. 
> 
> If anyone has strong feelings about it, let me know. I'm still on the fence about the whole thing.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The plan was simple and straight forward, as far as Hogan's plans went. They left half an hour after lights out, dressed in black complete with grease over their faces. In the end, Hogan decided to bring two extra men to help with the perimeter around the bridge in case security proved more than anticipated. They were supposed to place the explosives, detonate them, and high tail it back to camp, simple and straight forward. Now, all they had to worry about was carting the explosives the eight miles from camp without blowing themselves up or getting spotted by patrols.

_Piece of cake_ , Hogan thought to himself as he paused next to a tree worse, case scenarios still running through his mind,  _Yeah right_.

They were out of their known territory around the camp and their progress slowed down accordingly. Luckily they hadn't seen any patrols yet, but they were still taking every precaution, partially because of the unknown area but equally because of the explosives each man carried. None of the men, with the exception of Carter, seemed comfortable carrying the bombs, but Hogan didn't want to rely on one man to bring the explosives in case they were separated by patrols. True, they still hadn't run into to any patrols but the night was young and they were a long way from camp.

Finally, the bridge appeared through the trees causing Hogan to sigh in brief relief before tensing again. That was the easy part, he reminded himself, we'll see how easy that walk is when the explosion wakes ever German from here to the Rhine. Hogan glanced down at his watch, right on schedule, and signaled for everyone to gather round his position. They gathered behind Hogan, attention on both the bridge and the surrounding woods.

The railroad bridge stood out in comparison to the near pitch black of the forest as the few stars shown down, providing a little light despite the overcast sky. It spanned a deep gorge cutting into the ground, the far side forming a much more gradual slope than the sharp drop on the saboteurs' side. The woods ran right to the edge with only a ten foot wide clearance around the train tracks and the mouth of the bridge. It would be easy to get close but the other side looked more open leaving detection from that side a distinct possibility.

"Olsen, you go across first," Hogan said in a low voice, glancing back to make sure they could hear his instructions. "Check the area but don't go too far, then come back to the bridge and keep an eye on that side. Kennedy, do the same on this side. Everybody else, set your charges and come back to this spot. We'll detonate from behind the large boulder back there."

The group murmured their acknowledgements and headed out across the bridge, Olsen taking the lead closely followed by Hogan and Carter bringing up the rear after hiding the plunger in the bushes. The bottom of the gorge was largely shadowed in darkness, but Hogan could make out the sound of rushing of water and a few watery glitters coming up from somewhere below as he climbed through the posts and beams supporting the bridge. One look was enough to convince Hogan he didn't want another. He wasn't afraid of heights but that didn't mean he wanted to stare down into certain death if he should slip. So he kept his gaze at eye level and placed the charges.

Glancing around Hogan checked that the area was still clear. Newkirk and Carter were already back the edge of the trees and Lebeau was close behind. With a wave of his arm Hogan motioned for Olsen to get back across as Kinch finished up with his charges. A few more minutes of careful balancing act moving under the trestles of the bridge and Hogan was back on solid ground. He glanced back to track Kinch's progress the faintest traces of a smile coming on his face. Maybe they'd get out of this without any problems after all, but the smile died before it really appeared. Across the gorge, moving toward their position was a German patrol.

_Damn_ , Hogan thought,  _spoke too soon_ , glancing back to Kinch and up to the dark sky with a prayer the overcast would hold.

For a moment, Hogan thought they hadn't been seen as Kinch made it the rest of the way across the bridge, but as they ducked into the woods he heard a call from the other side accompanied by a series of shots. The shots were answered by a second patrol on their side of the river, this patrol much closer than the first and closing in fast. They were still too close, and Hogan knew it, but maybe if they blew the bridge now it would distract the two patrols long enough to escape.

Grabbing Kinch's, Hogan tore through the woods as fast as he could, yelling, "Carter! Blow it!"

There was a second's hesitation before the world behind him erupted tossing him and his friend to the ground. Suddenly, there was someone shaking his shoulder, calling his name.

"Colonel? Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan shook his head, then immediately regretted the action, before attempting to push himself off the ground. "Yeah?"

"Are you alright, sir?"

Hogan thought the voice sounded like Carter, but he couldn't be entirely sure. The world was muffled under an intense ringing through his ears, and he was concentrating too hard on standing up to be bothered by details like who just spoke to him. He lurched to one side but a hand on his arm kept him off the ground. Blinking a few times helped clear his vision though everything was still in double. He remembered at the end of his blinking exercise that he still needed to answer the question. "Yeah…Yeah," he said, "Just a little stunned. Gimme a minute"

The double world eventually coalesced into one place as Carter, yeah, it had to be Carter said beside him, "Oh boy that was bigger than I thought it would be. I've never had to use as much explosive as that before so I wasn't sure exactly-"

Hogan waved a hand to forestall the flood before it started. "As long as it got the job done," he said, looking around for the others, "We have to get out of here. How's everybody else?"

Carter and LeBeau were on either side of him, each with a hand on his arm. It was then that he noticed the others clustered around Kinch who was still prone on the ground. "Kinch?" he asked, moving to Newkirk's side as the corporal knelt over his second in command.

"Still out, Colonel," Newkirk said.

Olsen added from his position on the other side, "It looks like he got hit by some of the shrapnel from the bridge."

Hogan half knelt half fell next to Kinch. He place a hand on Kinche’s side, trying to make his own assessment. With the bells still ringing in his ears and the dizziness tugging at his balance, he couldn’t tell much more than what they already told him. It was too dark to see the full extent of the injuries, but he found few spots that had to be blood seeping through Kinch's clothing. Glancing back toward the bridge Hogan only saw a large hole where the structure should have been, with burning stubs sticking out from either side of the gorge. The patrol on their side was still a threat, if they hadn't been taken out by the blast, and the explosion would also bring more patrols into the wood. They had to get moving, and fast.

"Newkirk, Olsen, get Kinch up. The rest of you grab the equipment and head back to camp, don’t wait for the four of us." He cut off any argument with an added, "Let Wilson know we're coming and that Kinch is hurt. He'll be able to treat him as soon as we get back."

Newkirk and Olsen positioned themselves on either side of Kinch and, working together they got the larger man up between them. Hogan pushed up to his feet as well and swayed a moment. A large part of him wanted to help carry his friend, but this was the faster option. He steadied again and with a nod sent them off. The others quickly disappeared into the trees heading for camp while their remaining quartet followed at a slower pace.  _Now we'll see what speed records we can set getting back,_  Hogan thought,  _if this is how sabotage work is going to be like maybe we'd just be better off with our escape program._ A stumble cut his musings short as he focused all his attention on keeping up with Newkirk and Olsen while listening for patrols over the pounding in his head. Camp couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

Wilson liked to think of himself as a patient man. After all, he'd dealt with three weeks of Hogan's procrastination and evasion concerning his physical before taking any real action. Still, after only a day of being the newest Private in Stalag 13, Wilson was thinking he needed to reevaluate that character trait.

It did not take long for word to spread through camp about his punishment, both the extra duties and the severe rank drop that accompanied them. The rest of the day Wilson had to put up with the almost non-stop harassment that came along with it. He knew it was all in good fun. Apparently, besides gossip, harassing one another was one of the more popular pastimes in camp. He remembered something a friend studying Anthropology in college said about close knit groups maintaining social order and connections through harassment and other social interaction instead of formalized punishments like jail, but at the moment he really didn't care. He'd already gotten his formalized punishment why should he have to deal an informal one, too? Besides, if Olsen or anyone else called him "manservant" one more time Wilson was going to kill someone.

"Hey," Olsen had defended himself, "Consider it a badge of honor. The Colonel's threatened to bust plenty of people before, but you're the first one that he's actually demoted."

Somehow, the sentiment didn't make Wilson feel any better, nor did the pile of socks needing darning he'd found on his bed just before lights out. He simply glared at his entire barracks, all of whom were studiously looking away with suppressed grins, before shoving the pile onto the floor. "Don't forget to lay out my tux tomorrow," someone, probably Corporal Duffy, called, "Hitler's coming to visit and I want to look my best."

"Just wait till I cut holes in all your sox," Wilson replied, inciting a round of chuckles. "You’re all a bunch of degenerates," he muttered to more laughter before turning over to get some sleep.

Several hours later and Wilson was still trying to get to sleep. Despite how tired he was, the sandman just didn't want to visit him that night.  _Mff_ , he grumbled to himself turning over again, _this is almost ironic._   _I criticize the colonel for not sleeping and now it looks like I'll be up all night, too. Maybe this is karma biting me in the butt, or maybe I should just spike my own coffee_.

Wilson was in the middle of debating the possible ethical problems of spiking his own drink without telling himself when a hand shook him awake. Wilson scowled at the hand as he realized he'd actually managed to fall asleep, something that probably wouldn't happen again that night. Though now that someone actually needed him awake his eyes managed to feel heavy with sleep.  _Figures_ , he thought with disgust. The hand shook him again, more urgently, and he finally got the motivation together to admit to being awake.

"Yeah?" he asked looking up to see Lebeau standing over him in dark clothes with grease smeared all over his face. Suddenly, Wilson didn't feel tired anymore, something was wrong.

"Get your clothes on and your med-kit, I'll explain on the way," Lebeau said shortly, jerking his head toward the tunnel entrance.

Wilson managed to change from night clothes to uniform in record time and was soon hurrying alongside Lebeau through the maze of tunnels. Lebeau explained the situation in short spurts the occasional French word thrown in between pants of breath. Apparently, his group nearly ran back to camp to give Wilson a heads up about the incoming wounded. Medical bag in hand, they headed for the outside exit from camp. "Where exactly were his injuries?"

"It was too dark to tell," Lebeau said, "But there were a couple on his legs and one in his left side."

"How far behind were they?" Wilson continued as they turned the corner and found Carter and Kennedy waiting for them beside the exit.

Lebeau said, "Not far, but they were moving slow."

"How was Colonel Hogan doing?" this time Wilson directed his question to the entire group.

"He seemed a little dazed," Carter said, dancing back and forth from foot to foot with nothing to do as they waited for the others to show.

"Oui," Lebeau added, "He was unconscious for a moment when we got to them. But he said he was fine."

_The day I trust a Hogan self-diagnosis is the day I change my name to Mary_ , Wilson thought but kept it to himself. "Did you check him?"

"Non," Lebeau said, suddenly unsure. "We didn't see anything at first and he regained consciousness…He seemed alright considering"

"But it was dark," Wilson finished for them, running a hand over his face. He looked to the trap door, as though he could see through it to where the others were right now. If Hogan was injured then they'd be better off sending someone out to help bring them back, but there'd definitely be patrols out there after a bridge blowing up.

"Do you think we should send somebody back for them?" Kennedy asked, mirroring Wilson's thoughts and looking up to the hidden stump door.

The doctor didn't answer right away. He knew what Hogan's response would most likely be, a resounding "no", but in the meantime Kinch could be bleeding out. Plus, if the colonel did need help, Olsen and Newkirk would be too busy carrying Kinch to do anything. The sooner they got back to camp the better.

Wilson looked down at their group only to find them all looking at him. Hogan wasn't here to offer his input and Wilson was the CMO, even if he was technically a private. Making a quick decision, Wilson nodded. "Yeah, the sooner they get back the better and we don't know if the Colonel is in the best shape to keep up with the others all the way. I'll come along and make sure Kinch isn't losing too much blood before he gets here. Who knows the path they'd follow best?"

All three men raised their hand making Wilson roll his eyes.

"Kennedy should go," Lebeau spoke up, reluctance clear in his voice, "He's biggest and he'll be able to help Hogan. We'll stay here and make sure nothing happens in camp."

Wilson nodded, pulling out a few compression bandages from his medical bag and stuffing them into his pockets. "One of you go and get some beds ready. Lead the way," he nodded to Kennedy before following out into the dark night.

TBC…


	11. Chapter 11

Hogan shook his head to clear it, determined not to stumble again and slow them down. He already told Newkirk and Olsen to keep moving even if he fell behind but they stuck with him, whether deliberately or because hauling Kinch really was that slow, Hogan didn’t know. He caught Newkirk shooting him worried glances, but they couldn't afford to stop. Patrols were closing in and they were still several miles from camp. His head pounded with each step and his eyes drooped with exhaustion, two clear signs of a concussion. The dizziness didn’t help either. Their situation remained the same, though. They still needed to get back to camp and get Kinch some help. With Olsen and Newkirk tied up in carrying Kinch, Hogan just had to push through.  _When it rains it pours_.

A shift and groan next to him brought their group to a halt. They paused by a large bush as Kinch slowly came round.

"You with us Kinch?" Hogan asked in a low voice with a glance around. They were alone for now and everything was quiet.

Kinch's voice shook as he answered, "Think so. What happened?"

Hogan ran a hand over Kinch's legs trying to get a better picture of the injuries. "Tell you when we get back to camp."

"We shouldn't stay here too long, sir," Newkirk said with another scan of the surrounding woods. "We might-" but he broke off as the noise of movement came to their ears.

Without another word Olsen and Newkirk lifted their charge and shuffled farther into the bush, crouching down as much out of sight as possible. Hogan pressed himself low against the scant cover. The branches dug into his back leaving his front to world, but in the darkness he shouldn’t be immediately visible against the foliage. A moment went by before two dark shadows came moving toward them.

"I'm sure this is the way they would use to get back," one shadow whispered to the other, "It's the most direct route."

"Kennedy?" Hogan whispered, a mixture of relief and aggravation running through his voice.

"Here, sir!" Kennedy ghosted to their position behind the bush, followed by the other shadow.

"I thought I told you to get back to camp," Hogan hissed. They didn't have time for a proper dressing down at the moment, but wait till they got back to camp.

Kennedy hurried over to their bush followed by the other figure. "You did, sir, and I did, but we thought we'd just come by and make sure you got back to camp alright."

"Here, let me see him," Wilson's voice came from the other shadow.

"Wilson," Hogan growled, torn between relief and aggravation.

The medic didn't seem to notice as he ran his hands over Kinch, checking the positions of each piece of shrapnel. Kinch moaned briefly at first but clamped his jaw shut, suffering through the exam in silence.

“What about you, Colonel?” Wilson asked.

“He’s having a hard time walking straight,” Newkirk said before Hogan could reply. “Was unconscious for a moment back there.”

Wilson’s shadow nodded. "I need to get a compression bandage on this leg wound. Then he needs to get this shrapnel out as soon as we get back to camp. The longer they’re in the higher the chance of infection. Kennedy help the colonel get back to camp. I’ll get the dressing on then we’ll be right behind you."

Before Hogan could say more than an objecting grunt, Kennedy grabbed his shoulder and tugged him to his feet. “Sorry sir, he’s the CMO and we’re going to have to take turns getting down the tunnel anyway.”

Hogan clenched his jaw. It made sense but it went against the grain leaving one of his men injured outside of the wire. "Fine," Hogan bit out before standing up and immediately swaying. He pulled back on Kennedy’s tug back toward camp. “Newkirk, you keep a look out for patrols. Olsen and Wilson can carry Kinch.”

“Right you are, Colonel,” Newkirk murmured.

Wilson already had a bandage out, the white strip standing out even in the darkness. “Get going…sir.”

"Let’s get out of here," Hogan said, annoyed when Kennedy kept hold of his arm like he was going to help him the entire way.

Hogan kept an ear out just as much for his men on the move again as for enemy patrols. Kennedy pulled him faster than Hogan could really move on his own. Hogan had to admit, he was grateful for the helping hand after another half mile passed. The pounding and the dizziness was worse and he leaned on Kennedy more and more while they stumbled through the undergrowth. Hogan wasn’t sure if they were really moving as fast as they seemed or if it was just the fact that he couldn't quite to remember parts of the trip. He'd blink and it would seem like they had moved a hundred feet. He blinked again and his arm was over Kennedy’s shoulder rather than the sergeant just gripping his elbow.

Then suddenly Hogan blinked and they were outside the camp perimeter, waiting for the guards to pass before slipping into the tunnel. He made sure his eyes stayed open long enough to be aware of actually crossing to the stump and climbing down on his own dubious power. Two sets of hands grabbed him before he could fall off the ladder. They got him on the ground and turned him toward the tunnel. Carter and Lebeau stood on either side while half a dozen others waited at the bottom of the ladder and the exit tunnel.

“C’mon, sir,” Carter said, looping Hogan’s arm over his shoulder.

“Kennedy…” Hogan started. He had to force the name out, ten times as tired as he was on the way back to camp. He vaguely reflected his adrenaline must be crashing.

 “Waiting for the others outside,” Carter said.

Hogan blinked again and Carter was gone, replaced by one of the other medics. Hogan couldn't seem to get the strength to remember the man's name with the world spinning around him even though he was lying down. If he was laying down, though, that meant he could sleep. In that moment, that was all he cared about.

* * *

Wilson sat with his feet propped up on another chair, his two patients on either side. He was almost half way through the book he borrowed from some guy from barracks nine. He didn't quite know who the book belonged to originally. The man he borrowed it from had borrowed it from someone else, who had borrowed it from another person. As far as Wilson could tell and judging from its battered condition the novel had made its way through half the occupants of the camp so far. It wasn't a very original plot, but after weeks of no new reading material it may as well have been Shakespeare.

Next to him, Hogan shifted before blinking open two bleary eyes. Wilson set down his book, careful not to let any of the pages fall out again and grabbed a glass of water from the side table.

"Morning, Colonel," he said, but only received a croak in reply. "Here's some water, drink it slowly." He propped Hogan up and helped the officer drink.

After a few sips, Hogan regained some of his voice. "What happened?" the colonel half croaked.

"You fell out of bed," Wilson stated, almost pleased with himself. "Last night."

Wilson could see the confusion clouding Hogan's face for a few moments. Then, the confusion cleared and turned into exasperation, marking the exact moment when Hogan remembered what happen. "I thought you were supposed to be compassionate in your profession. Making a concussion victim think is just cruel." There was a muted growl in Hogan's voice but it was all bark as he brought a hand up to his forehead.

Wilson shrugged, unconcerned by Hogan's mood. There weren't any ranks below private. "Just making sure all the wiring is working upstairs. You passed the memory test very well."

Hogan crossed his arms, pausing as he looked the doctor up and down. His gaze slid over to the other bed. "How's-"

"Kinch is doing just fine." Wilson answered the question before his CO could even finish it. Leaning back, he gave the Colonel an unobstructed glance at Kinch before moving back into place. "He'll be in bed for a while, but we got all the shrapnel out in good time and stopped the bleeding. What's more Newkirk and LeBeau came up with a pretty good story for why he's in here for Klink. Something about a stress illness, or allergic reaction, or something. I was only half listening at the time."

"They're getting better at getting around Klink," Hogan agreed with a smile.

"One of the many things they've picked up from their commanding officer," Wilson said with a nod, inciting another thoughtful look from his CO.

Hogan pushed himself into a more comfortable position. "You shouldn't have come out for us."

"Technically, you never ordered me to not go out of camp," Wilson started but saw the deadly glare growing in Hogan's eyes. If they were going to make this work it was going to have to be give and take. Perhaps, this would be one battle it would be better to just let go. "Yes sir, it won't happen again."

Hogan just hrumphed to himself, expressing his disbelief with the grunt far better than with any words. He glanced down at the bed before a small chuckle edged out of his lips. "Maybe Newkirk and LeBeau aren't the only ones who have picked up a few tricks."

"Well, like my old man used to say," Wilson said, continuing with the ambiguity in their conversation, "Never pass up the opportunity to learn something."

The colonel nodded once before stopping with a hiss. "It's probably all the better, so long as that newfound knowledge isn't used out of line."

"Yes, sir, you're probably right, but sometimes the circumstances require a little tight rope walking," Wilson said with a smug smile. Actually, he was impressed Hogan was having this sort of round about exchange right after having woken up from a head wound. Well, there was a reason why he was the CO of what was a widely successful underground operation in Germany.

"Just be sure you don't fall on your head, Sergeant," Hogan said before sliding down back onto the cot and letting his eyes drift close.

The medic paused for a moment, unsure of what he'd just heard. "I can be a sergeant again?" Wilson asked with just a bit of hope in his voice.

Hogan shrugged from his position on the cot. "Technically, you were never not a sergeant since I never sent word to London. But you're still on KP and Laundry detail till I say otherwise."

Wilson felt his smile widen at hearing the partial reprieve and watched as Hogan fell back to sleep again. Sure this place was an insane asylum, but he had a feeling the assignment would be just the right fit for him.

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still a little torn about this story because I see a lot of areas I could improve on, but I don't know if I have time needed to do it well. At least you have an ending now and it was gratifying to see how much my writing has improved since this first story. I hope you all enjoyed it! Let me know if there's anything I can improve or fix. I do this to grow as a writer and that mainly happens through constructive criticism. Thanks for reading!


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